


To the Depths of My Heart

by runawaygypsy



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has always lived life around the ocean. It's been his place for contemplation, continual interest, and relaxation, until he meets Cora, a woman whose beauty is only outweighed by her mystery, and she turns his life upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I said I would concentrate on old works before starting a new one... I lied, or rather, my muse lied.

The ocean was his second home, though, arguably, could've been his first. While Tom's birth certificate listed Los Angeles as his birthplace, it was never where he was from. His parents were young when he was born, children themselves, really, and separated while he was still an infant. While he never knew much about his father, save a name and a crumpled snapshot his mother saved for him, his mother was an absentee parent. She drifted in and out of his days like a feather in the wind. It always seemed strange to him, that they should have that sort of a relationship, given the fact that, shortly after his father left, she'd run off to Hawaii with another man, her baby boy in tow. 

Of course, there was no solid father-figure in his life. His mother changed men almost as often as she changed shoes. His life was in a constant flux as far back as he could remember. When she was present, she was a wonderful mother, doting on him, playing games, teaching him, fostering in him a love of books. However, as an infant, she would often disappear for days at a time, leaving him the care of a neighbor, who was kind enough to see that he needed someone, anyone to take care of him. Once Tom started school, he became a latchkey kid, often letting himself into their studio apartment with a key kept on a cord around his neck, fending for himself by foraging food from their pantry and borrowing from neighbors as needed. In his times alone, he found himself drawn to the books his mother lovingly stocked on the bookshelf and would lose himself in the exploits of great adventurers like Robinson Crusoe.

As a teen, Tom was the pride of his high school's track team, garnering Captain status almost immediately upon joining. His lithe form was aerodynamic and he developed strong legs from running great distances. He was also popular with both male and female students alike, jovial, likable, good-looking. He had blond curls that he kept cropped close, ocean-blue eyes that made everything he said entirely believable, and a grin that brightened up any room. His penchant for mischief was never a problem because he would charm his way out of anything and everything, always with a glowing smile.

It was because of his affable nature that Tom was recruited by some of the older boys to help as they visited some of the local shops. While he was talking up the cashier, keeping them entertained with funny stories, asking questions, giving sincere feedback on the merchandise, his friends would be stuffing whatever they could get their hands on into their backpacks. He would always arrive at the store first and leave last, usually giving the impression that he didn't know them. It was a ruse that worked like a charm, though, and when anyone needed anything, it was Tom's gang they sought out. They sold the items for discount and thought of themselves as a modern-day Robin Hood gang.

While the boys expected their racket would keep up for some time, they didn't expect it to end for Tom as it did. One day, they were casing a local surf shop. Tom was chatting up the rotund man behind the counter, asking about things like surf wax and wet suits as his friends collected their booty when the man stopped him, jumped over the counter, a feat that impressed Tom given that he was such a porcine man, and began chasing after the escaping hoodlums, yelling in a combination of English broken with native Hawaiian. Tom was too stunned to move at the moment and, by the time he thought to retreat, his exit was blocked by the man's barrel chest. The man leered at him, his eyes reading Tom like a book. “They friends of yours, haole?” he asked.

Tom could only shake his head. It was the one time in his life when he could say nothing. As he searched for his words, he began to sweat. This was one incident where he knew he couldn't talk himself out of. “No...I...” he stuttered.

The man clapped his meaty hand onto Tom's bony shoulder. “You should be more careful with who your friends are,” he said. As he stepped back, he regarded Tom, his eyes scanning everything. “You look like a good kid, so I'll make you a deal.”

“What?” Tom asked. He wasn't sure what he expected, only that the man had kind eyes and wisdom that could only come from leading a hard life. That was something Tom recognized in him, immediately – a kindred spirit.

Smiling, the man answered, “You work for me in my shop – sanding, waxing, sweeping, anything I need you to do – and I'll pay you better than anywhere else.”

Intrigued, Tom found his voice. “How much will you pay me?”

The man chuckled. “I'll pay you minimum wage,” he replied. When he saw Tom scowl, he added, “I'll also teach you how to surf, and that's better than any wage you'd get.”

Tom would later say that meeting Kama Mahelona was kismet. It felt like he'd met his guardian angel that moment and the burly, old islander would save him, both literally and figuratively, at times when he needed him the most. He showed up for work the next day, neither of them expecting him to, and found that he enjoyed working in the shop. Kama taught him the correct way to sand the boards, allowed him to help paint them, wax them, care for them, and, with each board he helped create, he swelled with pride. He was making works of art while his former friends were terrorizing the businesses in downtown Hilo. And while they were getting arrested, one by one, for crimes ranging from petty theft to armed robbery, Tom was finding solace in learning to be one with the blue waters of the ocean, to find his peace as he bobbed in the waves and learned how to balance himself upon them, to commune with the creatures that shared his sphere of consciousness.

Surfing became more than a past time for Tom. As months went on and his lessons continued, he proved to be a natural and his formerly gangly frame began to develop into a true surfer's body. His arms developed from paddling out, his core was rock solid from balancing, his legs found all new muscles that helped him stay on top of his board. Even his looks transformed. He allowed his hair to grow out into golden curls that brushed his shoulders in soft ringlets and his skin, which had always been pale and prone to sunburn, turned a sun-kissed bronze. 

He learned to ride the waves like a pro, caressing them as though the blue waters were a woman and his board a delicate finger dancing upon her. With each curve, he hugged, each peak was topped, each valley was sliced through. Tom became convinced that he was of the ocean, that his skin would soon turn to scales and gills would grow where his ears were. He felt a fellowship with the waters and that he belonged there more than anywhere else. 

Kama sung his praises and, once student out-paced master, urged him to compete in some of the local competitions. At first, Tom balked, preferring to surf by himself and at his leisure, but, soon enough, the lure of prize money became too much. He knew that, with that money, he could better himself, maybe go to college, support his mother, make it so she wouldn't have to rely on anyone else again. Despite her iniquities, he harbored for her a fierce, unbreakable love.

Once Tom began competing, the other islanders began to take notice. He won a plethora of prizes, cash, trophies, aplomb, all locally. He was poised to be the next big thing and was getting sponsorship offers from several board companies, outfitters, all manner of businesses. His answer was always the same: “I use only one brand of board.” After that, he'd throw in a recommendation for Kama's shop. 

Business for Kama picked up because of Tom's endorsements and he found he needed to hire not only one extra hand to cover for when Tom was gone, but three. He never missed a match, though, and would stand on the beach with the judges, beaming and proclaiming, “That's my boy,” as any proud father would do. It was providence that he was there for Tom's darkest hour.

The finals were scheduled for a blustery day. There was a storm sitting in the middle of the Pacific, poised to hit land in a matter of hours. While there was talk of hurricane conditions, a vote was made among surfers and judges alike to continue. The contestants felt safe as the breaks were not higher than normal, the swells seemed no more of a challenge than usual. None of them were concerned about the cove they were in, either, even though its twin stone columns, which Mother Nature saw fit to raise parallel to each other and completely equidistant from the shore, had waters swirling around them in angry circles. They were a source of bragging rights in the surfing community. If a surfer was unable to gauge the way between them, he or she was seen as a failure, even though the rocks had seen their fair share of broken life and limb shattered against their volcanic bases.

Tom was familiar with the inlet, having surfed there his fair share of times before, and felt comfortable with it as he paddled into the waves. Kama watched as his golden head bobbed just above the swells while he waited for the right wave to appear, then everything was slow motion. Tom clamored onto the board, his favorite, hunched down as a swell came towards him, and balanced. As the water lifted him, he began to stand. The crowd on the beach cheered as he maneuvered his board expertly along the crest of the wave, his face a masque of extreme concentration. And then, he was gone. 

They all thought he'd just been hidden by the water, high as it was, until Kama saw the front half of Tom's board shoot from the waves. Without thinking, he rushed towards the water, disregarding the officials that yelled and tweeted their lifeguards' whistles at him, and dove into the cold rush. The swirling of water around him was no help to see because bubbles appeared everywhere he looked. He emerged from the water and spit, looking around for any telltale sign of where Tom was. There was nothing initially, but as he was about to dive in again, try deeper, he spied the other half of the board. As he made his way towards it, he saw Tom, his leg still tethered to the board, floating face down, his body thrown against the column to the right. Kama was at his side in seconds and untethered the board as he rolled him over. “Haole,” he coughed as he reached his arm around Tom's chest, “Are you alright?”

There was no answer and Tom didn't seem to be breathing. 

Kama swam with him, towing him to shore, dragging Tom's lifeless body onto the sand before starting CPR. It took a few tries, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Tom began sputtering, spewing salt water from his mouth. Kama rolled him onto his side, taking great care to not exacerbate any other injuries Tom might have. As the paramedics arrived and began to take over, he leaned close and whispered, “Dodged a bullet, Haole.”

Unfortunately, the injuries sustained in the accident killed any hopes Tom had for a career as a professional surfer. He'd broken both legs, nicked several vertebra, sustained a hairline fracture in his neck and got a severe concussion. The doctors told him he was lucky to be alive, but, since they also told him he should never surf again, he felt like he'd rather been dead.

His rescue came in the form of Kama, once again. This time, instead of surfing lessons, the big man arrived with stacks of books. “Before I was this, Haole,” he said as he stacked them next to Tom's bed, “I was an oceanographer. Maybe you can find something in these old books to help you through.” 

It was because of Kama that Tom went to college, studied oceanography and graduated with honors. Because of that kind heart he found himself far from home, staring at the gray-blue of the other side of the Pacific, on the Washington coast. Far from home, but not so far.


	2. Science

A call came in to the NOAA office on Friday afternoon. Tom, of course, was the first to answer the call, anxious as he was to get some field work and prove himself. Though he'd been on the job for a year, he was mostly relegated to the office, typing reports, doing research, all menial work as far as he was concerned. He was still considered the new guy. 

He caught sight of his reflection as he passed the mirrored glass of the Director's office and mused at how he'd changed. No longer the golden boy of his youth, time had taken its toll. His blond curls were, once again, shorn close and had darkened to a light brown. There were crows feet around his eyes, the effects of summers spent in the sun evident in them. He carried himself with a studious air, even having picked up a hint of an accent in his time abroad. His mother, Kama, neither would recognize him now – he barely recognized himself.

After his accident, Tom endured months of physical therapy. In his down time, he devoured the books Kama left for him, studying each in detail. Once he was fully recovered, he applied for schools and scholarships – his winnings from surfing were depleted to cover medical costs. As luck would have it, he managed to land a spot at the University of Greenwich in England. The school boasted the Greenwich Maritime Institute, touted as one of the best in the world, and awarded him a full fellowship. Tom jumped at the chance. 

At the time in his life when he should have been enjoying himself and studying what he loved, Tom found the most trying. While he was overseas, his mother passed away, the result of an unhealthy lifestyle that caught up with her. Kama helped as best he could with the arrangements, but, in the end, there was no money to pay for her burial and services, not that anyone would attend if they'd been held. She was declared insolvent, cremated and ashes interned in a public vault. Tom, unable to get back home to say goodbye, was inconsolable and would have given up his studies, if not for the intervention, once more of Kama. 

His benefactor, father-figure, friend, talked Tom out of dropping from school by threatening to kill Tom himself if he did. It wasn't much of a pep talk, but Kama was never the type to say anything more than, “Haole, you're stupid if you think I wouldn't kill you for coming back home. What do you think your poor mother would do if she knew you thought about it?”

Tom laughed at first, the fact that, after all the years he'd lived on the island, that Kama still insisted on calling him “Haole,” though now it was a term of endearment between the two of them, rather than a slight. “I know,” he finally groaned, “She'd be disappointed.”

“Damn straight, she would,” Kama replied. “Get your head on straight, boy.”

It was enough to encourage Tom to finish, and he did, graduating with honors, top of his class, garnering himself a Masters Degree in Marine Biology. Kama attended his graduation, congratulating him with a clap on the back and a proud, “You did it, Haole.”

That first summer, Tom returned to Hilo. His mother's apartment was already cleaned out, refurbished and re-rented, so he had little choice but to sleep on the futon in Kama's living room. He found himself once again working in Kama's shop while he looked for a position related to his new degree, only, this time, he was the one instructing a new boy, teaching him how to sand and paint and wax and polish. Though his doctors warned against it, he even found himself on a surf board, once again, showing the youth how to surf, precariously balancing on a board for the first time since his accident. He was frightened and thrilled and anxious all together, but he was home.

When the call came to hire him on at the Washington coast NOAA station, Tom was convinced his degree was useless, that he was meant to be in Hawaii forever, not that he minded. He almost wanted it to be true, but he knew if he gave up, Kama would never let him hear the end of it. In fact, he could almost imagine Kama telling him, “Haole, this is not the life meant for you now. Maybe when you're an old man, like me, but not now.” The discussion never happened because, after weighing pros and cons, Tom took the job.

Tom hurried into the Director's office with his notes from the call. “Davis,” he said, trying his hardest not to sound overly excited, a feat that, for him, was usually difficult. He was known about the office for being prone to explanations that included talking a mile a minute and plenty of wild hand flapping. “Mr. Davis, we just got a call from the geologists at the UW. There's been an event about fifty miles out. The Coast Guard is on their way and they've requested that we be present as well.”

Orrin Davis was a staunchy codger, prone to chewing on the same unlit cigar for days. He rarely ever smoked one, though his yellowed teeth would attest differently. He had a shock of white hair that stood on end in almost every spot on his head and his face was lined more than fine leather, but, behind his tough exterior was a tender heart. He turned his steel gray eyes on Tom and narrowed them. “I suppose you'd like to be the one in the field,” he said, molding his words around the unlit cigar.

“If that's where you'd like me to be,” Tom returned, trying his best to restrain himself. They'd played this game before, though it usually ended in disappointment.

Davis took a deep breath and studied Tom, a move that startled Tom, immediately reminding him of the way Kama sized him up when they first met. “Well,” Davis finally huffed, “Seeing as how Denton is already out, seems you're the only one here that can go.” He smiled when he saw Tom stifling his. “Take a radio with you and report when you get to the site.”

“Thank you,” Tom gushed, overcome with happy energy. “You won't regret sending me out.”

While he waited for the boat to be readied, Tom procured a life vest, a laptop, a satellite radio and a cup of steaming hot coffee, though he thought he might regret the latter once he got out to sea. Everything was tucked neatly into a waterproof case that he carried with its strap crossing his chest diagonally. 

The gray-blue sea almost melted into the horizon, the clouds skirting it the same color, almost the same texture except for the bulbous forms they crowded into. It was a normal sight, Tom noticed. Something he'd never seen in Hawaii was completely run-of-the-mill on the current coastline. Even the sand was the same color, he noticed as he stood and waited. He watched the waves roll in and out, almost mesmerized by them, until the monochrome was broken by the speck of a bright yellow vessel that approached him. 

“Ahoy!” a man on the boat yelled as they came closer to the beach. Tom waved and hurried to the dock closest to him. He climbed up onto the wooden pilings and hoisted himself up, careful not to damage his case. “Are you the oceanographer?” the man asked once he was within speaking distance.

“Yeah,” Tom replied as he finished traversing the dock and climbed down into the boat. “I'm Tom.” The boat was smaller than he thought it would be, a 35 foot boat, double deck. He wouldn't have much to work with, he observed. 

The man held out his hand and they shook hands. “Grady,” he introduced. 

Tom nodded as he let go of Grady's hand. “Have you been out there yet?”

“Nope,” Grady shook his head. “Coast Guard hasn't been yet, either. Word is, there's been a craft involved.”

“I hope everyone is alright,” Tom worried. Grady didn't hear him. By then, the man was already starting the engine again and then maneuvered the boat away from the dock, out to sea and Tom could do nothing but watch as he gained his sea legs again. The boat tossed and turned, the sea a broiling cauldron stirred up by a squall up north and, by the time they reached the area they needed to be, Tom was certain he would be sea sick.

There was no land in any direction, Tom noticed once the boat stopped next to the Coast Guard vessel. Not that he expected any, but he was so used to the islands that it seemed like more of an anomaly than the rule. Once his stomach quit churning, he looked around. The water was placid in the area, as still as an ocean current could be, still gray-blue, and littered with detritus. An officer appeared on the deck of the Coast Guard ship and Tom asked, “Was there an accident here?”

“We received a distress call about the same time as the incident occurred,” the officer answered. “I'm Chief Petty Officer Darrin Cole, by the way.”

“Tom, NOAA,” he replied. “Have you found anything?”

“Not yet.” The Officer turned and returned to his post.

With a sigh, Tom returned to his case in the galley of the boat and pulled the satellite radio out. He called Director Davis to check in. After he explained the situation to the Director, he was instructed to use the ship's underwater cameras and observe the actions of the marine animals below him. What he found would determine the next steps they would take.

Just as they were about to lower one of the cameras, one of the men on the Coast Guard ship called out, “Sir, there's someone out there!”

Normally, Tom would have ignored the melee that ensued, but there was something that piqued his interest. It may have been the tone the officer used, it may have been pure inflection, but something in it drew him to the vessel. There was no one in his line of sight for a good while but when they reappeared, he asked the nearest officer, “Do you mind if I board?” 

The officer answered, “Let me ask,” and disappeared from his stead. He reappeared a few moments later and said, “You may board.” 

A ladder was lowered from the Coast Guard ship towards Tom's much lower deck and he climbed up, case of items in hand. He wasn't sure if they'd found a person. Often times, there were cases like this where they'd reported a person and it ended up being some marine mammal, like a seal or a sea lion. Tom wanted to be prepared, just in case.

Once he was on deck, he followed the officer into the bowels of the ship. They arrived at the infirmary and the officer bid his goodbye. “Doctor Smith is in there, now,” the officer said before leaving. “You've already had clearance.” 

Tom nodded and pushed through the semi-open porthole door. The doctor's back was to him and he was hunched over, examining something, or someone. When he heard the door squeak shut, he turned around. “You must be the man from NOAA,” he said, his voice droll and his demeanor abrupt.

“I am,” Tom replied. He held his hand out to greet the doctor and shake hands, but the doctor shied away. With an awkward smile, Tom shoved his hand in his pocket. “Now who do you have here?” he asked. “Have you come across an animal?”

“See for yourself,” Doctor Smith said as he sidestepped the exam table.

A woman was lying on the table, wrapped in one of the scratchy military blankets that were stowed on the ship in case of emergencies. She had long brown hair that reminded Tom of the seaweed he often found on shore, slightly curly, draped over her in large, wet chunks. Her face was beautiful – heart-shaped, with wide, almond eyes, fringe of thick lashes that brushed against the blush of her cheeks as she laid there, rosebud lips that were drawn to a pucker as though she was waiting to be kissed. “Do you know who she is?” he wondered.

“She's only just got here,” the doctor shrugged. “I checked her out. Her heartbeat is a little fast. But, otherwise, she's completely fine. She's been through quite a bit of trauma and, I expect, will have one hell of a headache when she wakes up.” He pointed to a bump on her head. “No concussion, though.”

Tom reached out to touch her. The flesh on her shoulder was clammy and cold. “She must have been out in the water for some time,” he observed.

“She was clinging to a piece of the boat that was lost,” Doctor Smith revealed. “I assume she's the lone survivor of the accident.”

The woman began to stir and let out a brief sigh before opening her eyes and squinting at the bright lights of the Infirmary. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tom held his hand up, immediately shushing her. “Don't worry about saying much,” he said, leaning close to her. “There's plenty of time to tell us what happened. What's your name?”

She closed her eyes again for a moment and he thought they'd lost her, but she opened them again and, in a thin, reedy voice, answered. “Coralline.”

He smiled. “I'll call you Cora, if that's alright.”

She nodded and pushed herself to sit up. Tom and Doctor Smith helped her. “Were you part of the shipwreck?” the Doctor asked.

Cora took a deep breath and nodded yes again. “I was.”

Tom was intrigued and excited. “What happened to make the ship break up?” he asked. “We got news of a seismic event. Was there an earthquake?”

She smiled at him and that act itself made her seem otherworldly. “You could say that,” she replied.


	3. Monsters

The whole time Tom was recording data from the small NOAA boat he was given, his mind was somewhere else. Though he was aware enough to lower the cameras into the water and gather water samples to take back, he wondered about the woman the Coast Guard found. She'd lost consciousness shortly after she told him her name and never regained it while he was there. Granted, he was only on board long enough to get the needed reports from the ship's captain, but he hoped he could find out more of what she'd experienced before they took her away.

From the Coast Guard band on the boat's radio, he heard them call on-shore medics, instructing them to shield her from any media that may try to get a soundbite from her. He knew she was taken to a hospital for observation and treatment, but not which one. He hoped it was Gray's Harbor County General, not one of the outlying medical centers, only because it was closer. He didn't relish the prospect of possibly needing to drive the hour and a half to the next closest medical center.

By his third hour in on the investigative voyage, Tom was sure he'd gathered enough evidence to support the theory of a non-major earthquake. In his mind, it was a tremor, really, not large enough to warrant more than a footnote in the annals of seismic history. He instructed his captain to return to land, observing the water as the craft cut through it. Tom thought it odd that the water was still its same color - no anomalies that usually accompanied a boat breaking up - and there was no more detritus than the few pieces of wood and fiberglass that seemed concentrated in the once central area. 

They returned to the dock and Tom disembarked, climbing out of the hull of the vessel and adjusting his clothing after he tossed the life vest he wore back into the boat. He stood on the dock and stared back out at the sea, unsure why, now, it made him uneasy. His mind ran with imaginings that he would have laughed at previously, filling his head with images of sirens and mermaids, creatures of the deep that were disproved by everything scientific. He felt it was because, while he knew the sea well in his beloved Hawaii, the continental side of the Pacific was a whole different animal. Its waters were not the azure blue he was used to, nor the waves calm and predictable. Here, he watched as tempests swirled, and could easily imagine their murky green waters as part of The Odyssey - certain this was where the Scylla and Charybdis loomed and ships were wrested by the arms of the Leviathan. 

Davis was gone by the time he arrived at the office, much to his dismay. He'd looked forward to sharing the odd story with his boss, just to see what the old man's reaction would be. Instead, he passed by the darkened office and made his way to the lab to drop off the samples. There was a lab assistant that took the various vials and test tubes he'd collected, labelled them and had Tom sign them in on the daily sheet. She was one of the most droll, unenthusiastic individuals he'd ever met. "You don't enjoy working here much, do you?" he asked in an attempt to make the transaction easier on himself.

She took a deep breath and cast an apathetic stare at him for a moment. "It's a job," she replied, her voice in a complete monotone. "The only reason I'm here is because it pays for school."

"Really?" he asked, "What are you going to school for?"

"Marine biology." She rolled her eyes as though to say even that, as a career path, was not something that interested her. "My parents want me to follow in their footsteps," she finished with.

Tom chuckled. "A degree in that won't get you out of here."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"I've got a Master's in it," he answered. "Been here a year and this is my very first field assignment."

For a moment, she looked halfway between impressed and sympathetic and he thought he'd found a kindred spirit. They sized each other up. She was younger than he, but not more than five years, attractive in the girl-next-door kind of way, had curly red hair that was pulled back into a messy bun and revealed her porceline skin smattered with a light dusting of freckles. Just when he considered that she might be a friend, or even possibly something more, she dashed his hopes. Her deep green eyes narrowed and she snorted, "Loser."

Tom sighed, "Thanks," turned from her desk and walked away. He knew he'd been too hopeful and it came off as a desperate need for attention, but he was tired of not knowing many people. If he thought it was hard to make friends with his co-workers, many of whom were more solitary than social, living in their own little worlds, it was even more difficult in town. That was the problem with the small, coastal communities - everyone grew up together there, they all knew each other, and they all harbored an inherent distrust for outsiders. He resigned himself to it and waxed nostalgic for the times he spent with Kama. Good times.

The next day, Tom found himself, once again, staring at the sea as he waited for Davis to call him back. He'd spent the entire evening before in contemplation, reading and studying seafaring lore, unsure as to why he was drawn to it when the prospect before was more a subject of cynical boredom. Now, he pored over the words on the pages, the book plates, the paintings, the prints, enthralled. When Davis finally called, he was deep in thought, his imagination drawn to the legends of the deep, wondering what the natives saw when they looked at this sea. The ring of the phone startled him. "Hello," he answered, sure his voice was shaky. "Director, I was wondering... The Coast Guard found a woman adrift after yesterday's event and I have a theory that she was involved, somehow. Perhaps riding out the event as her boat broke apart."

"What are you getting at?" Davis grunted.

Tom took a deep breath. "I was wondering if I should pay her a visit in the hospital and see if she can shed any light on what happened out there?" He was sure he stuttered his way through the question, but he at least managed to get it out."

There was a brief moment of silence when he thought he'd lost the call, until Director Davis answered, "Yes, do that."

Permission granted, Tom said goodbye and hung up. His first order of business was to find out where she was and, as luck would have it, she was at Gray's Harbor, according to the Coast Guard. When he called the hospital, they would confirm nothing and refused to tell him what her condition was with. He wasn't family, he wasn't friend, he wasn't even law enforcement. There was nothing he could do other than go there and find out for himself. There was a small hope that, were he to appear in person in an official capacity, he'd get somewhere with his questioning. And somewhere was better than nowhere.

He began to gather what he needed from the desk in his office, some pens, a notebook, a digital recorder, a camera, and shove them haphazardly into a briefcase he had a tendency to use only on occasions when he wanted to look official. He made sure he had his badges on a lanyard around his neck, glad that he wasn't wearing a tie, threw his jacket on and left the office. His only hope was that she was awake, that she remembered the event and that she could shed some light on it. 

His arrival at the hospital was preceded by local news crews, though their appearance solidified the fact that he was in the correct place. Tom didn't want to be noticed, afraid they'd use him to try to get in. Instead, he tucked his lanyard back into his pocket and sauntered in, making a beeline for the gift shop. He watched the news crews eyeing him and made a point of buying a bouquet of flowers with a card that said, "Get Well Soon." He was so distracted with the reporters that he didn't hear the woman ask if he preferred a congratulations card and nodded. She unfolded the card on the counter and handed him a pen, which he eagerly signed, the whole time never taking his eyes off the journalists in the lobby. He handed her cash, grabbed the array of flowers and headed back into the crowd.

One of the journalists stopped him as he headed for the elevators. "Are you here to visit the woman from the boat accident yesterday?" a reporter asked.

Tom shook his head. "No," he answered, "My wife just had a baby." He smiled sheepishly as he escaped between the metal doors, shrugged when they closed. It was a close call, he knew, but he managed the escape without anything untoward happening. 

He wasn't even sure which floor she was on, he only guessed they put her in Critical Care. That was the floor he stopped on. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped out and went to the nurses' station, setting the flowers down on the counter when he got there. He reached into his pocket to pull his lanyard out and his eyes widened in alarm. In his haste to escape the crowd in the lobby, he'd lost his credentials.

"Can I help you?" a young nurse asked. The man looked like he was fresh out of college.

Taking a deep breath, Tom said, "I'm looking for my cousin. They said she was brought here yesterday. Boat accident. Her name is Coralline."

"Oh, yes!" the nurse exclaimed. "She's here, room 413." He pointed to a corridor to the right. "Down there, around the corner, third door on the right."

Tom smiled. "Thanks."

He picked up the flowers, followed the directions and found her room easily. Her name was on the door. "Coralline Doe," it said. They didn't even know her last name, but, then again, neither did he. Pushing the already ajar door open with his toe, he was careful to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb her. 

Cora was lying in the bed and looked more fragile than she had the day before, though Tom doubted it was supposed to be possible. Her skin looked tissue paper thin, made of the finest china, with small blue veins that were just near her eyes. With the white hospital gown, the thick white sheet gathered around her as it was and the way her hair was splayed out on the pillow, she looked ethereal. Her eyes were closed, but he could see them moving beneath her eyelids, the rapid eye movement of dreams. He didn't want to disturb her. She sighed and rolled onto her side, opening her eyes just slightly as she did.

In an attempt to remain unseen, he tried to hide behind the curtain that was half drawn, but he failed to take into account the flowers he held.

"Hello, again," she yawned.

He stepped out and stood tall. Holding out the flowers, he said, "I brought these for you."

"Congratulations?" she giggled.

Turning red, he glanced at the card. "Well, you survived, so... congratulations."

"Indeed." She sat up and braced herself with her elbow. "They're beautiful."

He walked to the other side of the room and set the flowers down on the window sill. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember me," he said. "You were not quite conscious yesterday."

"I remember you," she replied. "I remember."

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Do you mind if I sit?" He motioned toward an empty chair at the side of her bed.

"Please," she answered. "Be my guest."

The chair made an ear-shattering scraping sound as he pulled it back enough to accommodate his long legs and he grit his teeth when it did, but she remained unfazed. After settling into the chair, he pulled his recorder, a pad of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "I've got some questions for you, if you don't mind."

Cora shook her head. "I'd rather not." Her placid face drew into a puckered concern.

"Why not?" he wondered. "You might be the only person that saw the event. Even yesterday, you said it was an earthquake of sorts."

"I don't remember that," she replied. "I must have been delirious."

"Do you remember anything about what happened?" He was concerned that his whole visit was a waste of time.

She took a deep breath that seemed pained. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "Perhaps if you return tomorrow."

Tom's visit was short-lived. He left the hospital more disappointed than he would have been had he never gone, but he was also intrigued. Something about Cora, about the way she looked at him, her otherworldly composure, made him want to see her again, to talk with her. They could say everything, they could say nothing, as long as he was with her. He felt like he knew her, or knew of her. He told himself it was impossible, that they'd only met the day before and even then but briefly, it was an improbability that was staggering, but there was something - a voice, a thought - in the back of his mind that told him he was wrong. It was the same voice that recently told him the monsters were real. Odysseus had battled there, that sirens ruled the seas.

 


	4. Mysteries

"Hiddleston!" Director Davis yelled over the office intercom. He sounded impatient, in more of a foul mood than Tom had ever heard or seen before.

Instead of waiting for another call, Tom jumped from his desk and hustled into the belly of the beast. "Yes, Sir," he said, his voice sounding more out of breath because he hurried.

Orrin Davis scowled, his narrow eyes studying the man before him. "Did you visit that woman yesterday?" he asked. "I did," Tom hesitated. "She didn't have anything to add. Said she didn't remember." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and fidgeted with his shirt, pulling it down over the waist band of his slacks in an attempt to get the strained buttons look less like they'd pop off at any moment.

"You didn't have any troubles with the staff?"

Tom shook his head. "No. I told them she was my cousin."

"Are you aware she seems to be suffering from amnesia?" Davis began tapping his fingers on the top of his desk. "She doesn't remember her last name and they've been unsuccessful at finding her identity. There's no missing women reported that look like her."

"It's not unusual, is it?" Tom wondered. "She could live a quiet life of seclusion and have no family that would miss her." He was speaking from experience, he thought, though if he were to go missing, he was sure Kama would sound an alarm and find some secret friends that would come out of the woodwork to help. He was that sort of man."Stranger things have happened."

Davis took a deep breath, his face relaxing as he grabbed the cigar of the day from his humidor, bit the end off, spit it in the ashtray on his desk and placed it between his lips. "They have," he agreed. "USGS is now telling us their report was flawed, that there is no evidence of any seismic activity in that area, now that they've investigated further."

"I haven't checked with the lab, yet, to see if the results of my samples have arrived..." Tom attempted to step away and leave the office, aware that he was now drawn into something of which he didn't have a full understanding.

The Director shot up from his seat. "Don't bother," he said, his voice dour. "The FBI has gotten involved. They've confiscated our samples."

With a groan, Tom's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Sir," he sighed. "Would you like for me to try talking with Coralline again? She asked me to return today." He hoped the answer would be to the affirmative, that he'd be granted clearance to speak with her, get to know her, but his hopes were dashed when Davis shook his head.

As he sat back down, Davis calmed down. "She's not at Gray's Harbor any more," he said. "They've taken her to an undisclosed location."

"Even we can't get in?" Tom knew he was grasping at straws, but he didn't care. 

Orrin's face darkened. "You, especially can't," he groused. "Seems you lost your credentials at the hospital and they were picked up by a member of the press. Your field credentials have been revoked and you are assigned to the office until further notice." He saw how dejected the man in the doorway became. "I'm sorry," he finished with. "If the feds weren't now involved, we might have some leeway, but we're shooting into the dark, now. It's not our place to question their motives."

There was nothing left to say, at least nothing of importance. Tom turned and left, shuffling back to his office as slowly as possible. His hopes of being the chief in field seemed like they were so far off that they might as well not exist and the prospect of getting a transfer from his current NOAA station to one in his beloved Hawaii seemed even further away. 

The afternoon dragged as he procrastinated, typing in his report, editing it, saving it, deleting it, starting over. It was a vicious circle that he felt was pointless. He had no idea if the report would ever see the light of day, much less include any of his hard-earned data when it did. 

On the off hand chance Orrin was wrong, he made the decision to call the lab, just in case some of his samples were saved. The same lab assistant he'd seen before answered the phone. "Lab," she deadpanned. 

"Hello, um..." he replied. "I never got your name."

"Liz."

"Thank you, Liz," he said. "This is Tom. I dropped off some samples from the seismic area a couple days ago and I was wondering if you happened to have any of them left."

She gave a doubtful half-laugh. "You did hear we were visited by the feds, didn't you?"

"I did, but I was hoping they didn't take everything." He enunciated his last word as though it were a some sort of incantation that would make a forgotten sample magically appear. "Or were tests run that you might have the results from before they came?"

Liz gave him the first indication ever that she had a personality. Letting out a slight giggle, she teased, "You underestimate me, young Padwan." 

"Star Wars, nice," he returned, though the comment made him smile. "What have you got for me?"

"Come to the lab," she purred, "I'll take care of you." She hung up before he could react.

Liz's change in personality took Tom aback and he scratched his head as he mulled it over for a moment. As he left his office, he was hit with the realization that she was covering her ass, just in case someone was listening. It was a conspiracy theory, but, given the fact that the FBI was now involved in what should have been a simple investigation between NOAA and USGS, he could see why she chose to. 

When he arrived in the wing that the lab was in, he found Liz standing outside. She smiled wide, but rolled her eyes at him, hinting at being watched. Tom held his arms out and gushed, "Darling!" as he approached and gathered her into his arms. She felt like holding a struggling baby goat, all sharp bones and angles. "What have you got for me?" he whispered.

She pulled a folded piece of paper from the gap in her cleavage and answered, "Kiss me and you can have it." Standing on tiptoes, she angled her chin up to him and closed her eyes.

Tom felt silly, but he puckered up and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her tuck the paper into his shirt pocket before she twined her fingers behind his neck and hummed with satisfaction. "Thank you," he said as he moved away from her.

Liz let go and laughed. "You're not a bad kisser, Loser. Too bad you're not my type." She turned around and returned to the lab, leaving him dumbfounded in the hallway.

He threw one more glance back in the direction of the empty space she'd occupied, then walked away with his hands in his pockets. If anyone was watching, they'd have seen a man who was smitten, crushing on the cute redhead in the lab. It was his red face that did it, the blush that he couldn't hide, that gave the effect. The truth was, he was nervous. If he defied the feds, it could mean his job and that was one thing he wasn't willing to sacrifice, not after the accident. By the time he returned to his office, he was breathing hard, his heart felt like it was planning on bursting through his chest. He closed the door and pulled the note from his pocket. It felt like high school all over again, their little game a throwback of note-passing in class, except the stakes were more severe than detention.

The paper was standard lined paper from a white legal pad, ripped in half and written on with blue ball-point pen. On the outside, she'd drawn a heart with his name scrawled in perfect cursive in the middle. Nice touch, he thought as he unfolded it. Inside, a photocopy of a lab report was printed and, next to the table of results, she'd written, "Loser, this is the only one I had. A silt sample from the floor. Dating has it back several thousand with some biologicals unrecognized. Hope it helps. ~L" He studied the data with a keen interest. It took all his willpower to keep from storming into his boss' office and showing him the paper. The data on that page was irrefutable proof that something happened in the depths. Cora was the missing link to that something. She'd been there. She knew. His only hope was to unlock her memory.

Tom hid the note in his shoe, sliding it between his sock and the side of the leather loafer and closed up his office. He stopped by Davis' office on the way out and feigned a stomach ache, complaining, "It was probably that sandwich I had at lunch- bad meat." Orrin only nodded and dismissed him with a wide sweep of his hand, too busy to worry about the stomach problems of a man whose career was sinking fast. Tom only let out a breath of relief once he was in the elevator and on his way down to the garage level. He knew if Davis had any sort of inkling as to what he really was doing, he faced suspension, termination, blacklisting from the aquatic sciences community, but he felt the weight of its importance upon his shoulders more than anything else he'd done in his life.

He maneuvered his clunker car out of the parking garage and guided it through the security gate. Here, too, he held his stomach and pretended he was about to get sick. The guard on duty was no friend. He'd sized Tom up on his first day and decided he was trouble. If anyone were to doubt the illness, the guard was the first he'd suspect. His performance satisfied the guard who opened the horizontal, black and yellow bar and waved him through. Once he'd driven past, Tom knew he was in the clear, that no one suspected anything.

Gray's Harbor Medical Center loomed in the distance and the closer he drove to it, the larger it got, its hulking gray boxy architecture a match for the clouds that hovered over it and it seemed to leer at him as he parked. It felt odd that the building was so much more menacing without the throngs of reporters he'd seen previously, but he thought it was because, now, it was lifeless. Instead of the colorful people milling around in the entry, it was empty, save a bored triage nurse who sat behind a desk next to the emergency room entrance. She didn't seem to notice him as he passed by her.

In reality, Tom had no idea why he'd gone to the medical center. Davis told him Cora was not there any longer, that she'd been moved to an undisclosed location, but it felt like a starting point. He felt he'd made friends with the nurse when he visited her the first time and he held onto the hope that the same nurse would be there, would remember him, maybe even be able to tell him where she went. It was worth a try, he thought. 

When Tom arrived at the floor she'd been on, his hopes were dashed. There was a different nurse on duty. Gathering his nerves, he took a deep breath and stepped up to the desk anyway. "Hello," he smiled, trying his damnedest to disarm her disinterested scowl, "I'm looking for my cousin, Cora. She was here yesterday and they told me she'd been moved, but I'm not sure where to. Can you tell me?"

The woman pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, sir, but I am not privy to that information." She smacked her gum at him. "I was told she had no relatives." Without waiting for him to say anything, she turned her back on him, effectively ending what there was of the conversation.

Dejected, Tom left, returning to his car. He sat in the parking lot for a while, shoulders slumped, mind running in overdrive. His urge to find Cora was a problem, he knew, but he felt like he was on the verge of something important and that risk was outweighed by the benefits, though he had no idea what finding her meant he'd discover. He sat in contemplation until the overcast sky began to darken, threatening to rain. 

Instead of heading home, Tom drove to the nearest State Park. He didn't want to be cooped up inside his own four walls. He'd had enough of that at work. His longing for the ocean began to boil in his blood again and he wanted to dive into her waters. A boat was not an option. His skin craved the salt, the sand, everything. Once he got out of the car, he pulled his socks and shoes off, careful not to let the report fall out, then put them in the back seat and locked his doors. The cement of the parking lot was rough, hard on his feet, and his toes tingled in anticipation of sand between them. Closing his eyes, he ran - past the restroom building, over the grassy dunes - to the water's edge where the waves lapped at his feet, their foam leaving bubble kisses on his skin. 

He spent a good amount of time on the beach, walking, getting his feet wet, sitting, communing with the sea life. It was his own version of meditation, his harmony with nature. After a while, the skies opened up and rained, but he sat, still. The rain was cleansing and soaked him to the bone. By the time he decided to return to his car and drive home, it was almost night. The sun set behind the clouds and he saw nothing but the impending darkness overhead.

Tom drove home with the heater on, hoping it would help dry his clothing enough to not drip the entire way from car to door. He was certain his landlord would have something to say about it if he did and he wasn't in the mood to give the woman any more ammunition on her list of daily petty gripes. Even though he was a model tenant, she had some imagined slight from his move-in that determined the entire course of their relationship thereafter. 

When he was almost home, he passed a figure on the side of the road, someone walking, dressed in white clothing, picking their way along the rocks and ditches. He sighed. It wasn't the best road to walk along and, even wearing white, the night time could be deadly. He stopped the car and put it in reverse after making sure there was no one behind him. As he came along side the pedestrian, he rolled down the passenger window. "This is a horrid place to walk at night," he shouted. "Would you like a ride?"

The person stopped for a moment, then leaned into his window. Tom's heart stopped in his throat. It was Coralline. "Please, yes," she smiled. Her eyes were distant, though, like she was living in a dream. 

He unlocked the door and heard her grasp the handle, then swing it open. As she sat down, he said, "I heard they changed hospitals with you. I'm glad you're out so soon. Where do you need to go?"

Cora blinked, her entire being absent for a moment before she turned her eyes back to him. "I don't know," she answered, her voice weaker than it was before. She opened her mouth to say something else, but as the words began to form, her eyes rolled into her head and she fell back against the seat, faint.


	5. Waves

Cora slept for hours, through the night and most of the way through the day. It was Tom's day off, so he didn't mind, even though she occupied the sofa, the only comfortable seating in his entire apartment. He watched her as she slept for a while, careful not to dwell for too long in case she sensed him and woke up. Disturbing her peace was the last thing he wanted to do.

When she finally emerged from her cocoon of sleep it was early evening and he was in his bedroom. He'd sat on the bed for a while, reading seafaring lore, but then fallen asleep, himself, half reclined against the headboard, book rested on his chest. He was only awakened by the sigh she let out as she stretched.

Tom got up from the bed, slid the worn piece of paper he used as a bookmark in between the pages of his text and set it down on the nightstand. He found Cora standing in the center of the room, staring at the sea out of his picture window. The blue-gray waves were roiled as another storm brewed on the horizon. Angry dark clouds swirled and there was a curtain of heavy rain that formed a wall between the cloud banks. Since evening was falling, the impending twilight made the scene look like the end of time. It was a scene he was gradually growing familiar with - as different from the tropical tones he'd been accustomed to in Hawaii as he could imagine. She bore a wistful look on her face and her eyes were liquid and clear, staring into somewhere he had no hope to see. "You, too, huh?" he asked, startling her.

She jumped, her shoulders caught in sharp angles as she stiffened. Whipping her head around, her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

He felt like he'd been caught doing something inappropriate and gave her a sheepish grin. "oh, um, nothing..." he stumbled over his reply. "I just meant that you're drawn to the sea like I am." 

Cora nodded as her attention returned to the watery vista. "I feel like I'm at home there," she said, her voice carrying a soft quality, like she was lost on a dream and adrift somewhere in her own consciousness.

He cleared his throat. "So, Cora, what's your story?" Tom was caught between wanting to touch her, reaching out and hovering his hand over her shoulder, and respecting her space. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..." he backpedaled, feeling suddenly that his question was an invasion of her privacy.

Taking a deep breath, she was otherwise silent, and he could see, as he stepped to her side, that her eyes were tracking each and every movement of the ocean - each wave, each undulation, each splash against the crags was absorbed and cataloged by her field of vision. "Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls," she recited, her voice flowing with the swells of sea-foam. 

"Longfellow," he smiled. "One of my favorites." He chanced a glance out the window, but his eyes returned to her, his keen interest in her situation apparent in the way he fixed on her, the slight lick of the lips as his tongue darted out. 

Finally, Cora turned to him. She studied him as well, her eyes caressing the contours of his face, taking him in just as studiously as she did the vast ocean in front of them. "I don't remember," she said. "I know I was out at sea and I was found." She reached up and cupped his cheek. Her fingers were cool to the touch and he fought the urge to lean into her. "I remember you." Then, her movement as rapid as unexpected as the caress, she pulled her hand down and looked away. "I don't know who I am, where I belong."

Her candor took him aback. "You know your name, right?" he asked, incredulous. 

"Only my first name," she answered, her voice fading to a whisper. "Coralline."

The reason her name was listed as "Coralline Doe" at the hospital made sense then. He thought she'd seemed lucid before the Coast Guard took her away, but he realized that she'd only been in shock, perhaps brought on by the icy waters, perhaps a result of the accident. "Did the police try to identify you?"

She shook her head. "I ran before they could do that."

"Why did you run?" he wondered. "Were they hurting you? Threatening you?" Tom remembered the FBI involvement - their surreptitious removal of his samples and data from NOAA first and foremost in his mind. He harbored an inherent distrust for anyone who threw their weight around and harmed innocent people. 

"No, it's nothing like that," she replied. He thought her voice sounded a little sad.

He took a step in front of her and blocked her view. In his mind, he knew it was akin to torture because it was something so simple, yet effective. The removal of the distraction from their conversation caused her to look up at him with impatience. She huffed at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Tom forgot himself for a moment and clasped her shoulders, gripping them tight enough to incite the flesh around his fingers to to turn white with pressure, but not enough to bruise. "I need you to tell me the truth," he instructed, feeling a surge of command. He spoke slowly and plainly. "Were you involved in anything illegal?" The question sounded preposterous the moment it fell from his lips, but, in all seriousness, he knew it needed to be asked. "Please tell me the truth."

There was nothing telltale in her demeanor as she closed her eyes, long lashes sweeping gently down. "It's nothing like that," she demurred. "I'm not even sure I was directly involved with the shipwreck." Checking his reaction, she flicked her eyes up to his again and bit her lower lip. 

Tom realized he was holding her and removed his hands, folding them behind his back, but keeping his stance in front of her. "What do you mean you weren't directly involved with the shipwreck?" he huffed. "It's not like you were just in the middle of the ocean on your own!" His voice as he ranted gained in both volume and pitch until he realized he was shouting. "You had to have hit your head really hard to forget something like that." He began looking at her, inspecting her scalp for signs of injury. 

Cora sighed, "I told you I don't remember." She sounded annoyed. "If it's that troubling for you, I'll just leave." She turned and started walking away from him.

He could do nothing but watch as she fumbled with the meager belongings she had with her - her rain-soaked clothing was lying across the radiator, put there to dry the night before, her shoes were just underneath it. Other than that, she had nothing. "You're wearing my shirt," Tom managed to say as he watched her move from space to space with the flightiness of a hummingbird. 

She turned to him with wild eyes. "What?" she asked, furrowing her brows.

He pointed to the long, navy blue NOAA t-shirt that, on her petite frame, came down to her knees. "My shirt," he repeated. "I'd like it back before you go."

Instead of retreating to the bathroom with her still semi-wet clothing and changing, Cora's eyes widened, her nostrils flared as she dropped her own belongings on the floor near her bare feet. She reached down to the bottom of the shirt, yanked it up and over her head, wadded it into a ball and threw it at his face. "Have your damn shirt," she screamed.

The shirt fell to the floor, uncaught by Tom. He stood there, stunned, his eyes drinking in her shimmering skin. She seemed otherworldly. Though he knew it was just a thin sheen of sweat that graced her, it gave her an ethereal glow, especially when contrasted with the tendrils of dark hair that fell about her shoulders and over her breasts. "Um, wow," he breathed. A surge of sudden shame shot through him and he averted his eyes. "I didn't mean right now."

"Ugh," she grunted in disgust, unconcerned to be nude in front of a complete stranger. "Don't you people ever say what you mean?"

He looked back, confused, aroused, completely taken. "What do you mean by 'you people'?" 

Cora stomped on the floor. "You governmenty business-type people," she yelled. "Everyone I talked to at the hospital told me one thing and meant another. It's confusing as hell and what is it with that?" She stopped short of where he stood and raised up on her tiptoes, jaw set and fires blazing. Poking a finger in his chest, she finished with, "And now you're doing it, too."

Tom held his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he defended. "I am not a government man. I'm a scientist."

"Who works for the government," she shot back. "Unless NOAA is no longer a government agency."

She knew how to take the wind from his sails. He put his hands down and his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Alright," he conceded, "You've got me. I work for the government, but, like I said, I'm a scientist, first and foremost. I detest dealing with those suits as much as the next guy." His hands stiffened at his side as if he wanted to touch her, to bring her back again, but he was afraid to, so he flexed his fingers instead.

Her breathing was heavy and she grit her teeth as she stood down from him, taking a step back when she realized how close she was. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's just been a bad couple days. I didn't mean to take it all out on you." Her attention was on the floor, her inability to look him in the eyes apparent.

"Apology accepted," he replied. 

Looking up at him, Cora smiled. It was for the first time, a genuine smile. "Thank you." Something in the way her eyes swept over him, the way she seemed so delicate, yet so fierce the next moment, intrigued him. She stretched her neck and kissed him gently, just a peck on the cheek and when her lips were gone, he was left with a tingly warmth. 

Tom restrained himself from touching her, from following the instinct to gather her in his arms and forever protect her. "Cora," he sighed, exasperated, exhausted by the wealth of emotions that charged the air in the room, "Do you have anywhere to stay?"

She shook her head. "Not that I know of."

"Well," he shrugged, "I know it's not much, but you're welcome to stay here." He took a step away from her and picked up the rumpled shirt. Handing it back to her, he added, "You can use this until we get you some proper clothes."

She grabbed it from him in a flash, realizing that he was really telling her she should cover up. "Thanks," she mumbled as she slipped it back over her head.

"It looks better on you," he chuckled. He gestured towards the single bedroom. "You can have the bedroom. I'll take the sofa."

"I couldn't impose like that," she gasped. "You hardly look like you'd fit on that sofa."

He glanced back. "I'll manage," he replied. "You're my guest, so you get guest privileges." He began walking towards the bedroom. "I'll clean it up a bit, first, though - give you clean linens, rid it of my dirty things."

"How chivalrous of you," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

Tom nodded. "Anything for you, Darling." He could give as well as he could take and the cheekiness that moved between them made him wonder exactly what she was thinking, how she felt.

As he escaped into the room, he gave a look around and assessed exactly what he'd need to do to make it hospitable for her. There wasn't much. He stacked his books on the chair in the corner, made sure his dirty clothes were in the hamper and set it by the door so he could stow it in his hallway closet, pulled the soiled sheets from the mattress and pillowcases from the pillows. Heading out, he pulled the hamper with him and shoved it unceremoniously into the bottom recesses of the linen closet, in between the wall and the combination apartment-sized washer/dryer. Grabbing a set of sheets, he peeked into the living room to see Cora wandering around it, picking up knick-knacks, inspecting them and setting them back. 

She held a glass swan and was weighing it in her hands when he walked back to the room. "That was my mother's," he explained. "She got flowers in that when I was born."

"Oh!" Cora startled. She nearly dropped the swan, but bobbled it and caught it before it fell. "Sorry," she said as she put it back on the shelf she'd gotten it from.

He smirked. "It's okay to look." He nodded his head towards the knick-knacks, then back to the bedroom. "I'll just put the sheets on and then the room is all yours."

"Thanks," she smiled.

Walking back into the room, he turned around so fast he nearly lost the stack of sheets. "Would you like to get something to eat after I'm done here?"

She gestured to her state of dress. "I think my clothes are still a little wet." 

"We can order in," he answered. "I'm sorry, the super hasn't come in to fix the dryer, yet."

"It's okay."

"Pizza or Chinese?" He motioned towards the stack of paper take-out menus on the entry table near the door. "Take your pick."

She nodded, pursing her lips as she went to retrieve the menus. Tom left her to peruse them while he finished making the bed. When he returned, she was sitting on the sofa, one leg crooked behind her other knee, leaning forwards, menu in hand, eyes scanning. "I like this one," she announced, holding up the glossy tri-fold that was adorned with photos of cheesy, gooey pizza. 

"Any particular one?" he asked as he sauntered into the room and sat down next to her. "I'm more of a pepperoni and sausage guy, myself."

Cora leaned back on the sofa, settling into its cushions. "That sounds great," she replied. He got the idea she didn't care about what she ate - she was too far away.

Tom ordered the pizza, perching on the edge of the other end of the sofa as he spoke with the pizzaria. Once he hung up, he turned so he was sitting at an angle, his backside in the corner, long legs splayed out. He watched her as she drifted away, back out the window, into the waves. She was dark and mysterious and utterly fascinating to him. "I need to solve the puzzle of who you are," he murmured, but she didn't hear him. She was riding the waves.


	6. Monday

Tom's first Monday back to work was fraught with as much hand-wringing as with tedium. He was desk-bound, stuck with the unfulfilled task of writing reports for his colleagues, filing them and following-up on them. In between stacks, he worried about Cora. He hadn't liked leaving her alone when he left, despite her assurances she would be fine. 

The rest of their weekend was fairly uneventful, their Saturday night topped off with pizza, beer, and a Netflix binge. In between movies, Tom worked on cleaning out the bedroom for Cora, making sure he looked at it as a stranger would, rather than the guarded familiarity of himself. She seemed amused as he carried out boxes of clothing and personal items, shoving them into the linen closet with a grunt. 

Sunday, he took her shopping for new clothing because he felt bad she had nothing decent to wear other than the ill-fitting clothing she was issued during her hospital stay. He felt the need to protect her, a feeling creeping in the back of his mind that, were they to stay locally, there'd be hell to pay for both of them, so he opted to drive to Olympia instead. They shopped, took in the sights, ate a lunch of take-out teriyaki and bubble teas at the downtown park and made an enjoyable afternoon out of it, only to return to Tom's tiny apartment overlooking the sea and ordering in from a Chinese hole-in-the-wall that made the best General Tso's Chicken. 

While they finished out the night, Cora drifted off, her head leaning against Tom's shoulder as her hair fell over his arm. He didn't want to move her, so he stayed, watching her as she slept. She was at peace, far from the frightened woman he'd met on the sea, far from the defensive woman who'd faced off with him the night before. She sighed and reached across him, her arm resting across his chest as she adjusted, smacking her lips before settling against him. 

He lifted his arm and draped it around her, giving her a softer part of his shoulder to rest her head on and tossed the worn afghan from the side of the sofa over her as much as he could with his free hand. With her there, it felt warm, comforting. That was something he'd never had with a girlfriend, though he'd had plenty. His interactions with them were reserved to compulsory sexual acts, social obligations and passive interest until the girl got tired of his non-committal attitude and ultimately left. He found more enjoyment in this - not needing to impress Cora, not worrying he wouldn't be good enough, not fighting his own boredom with the relationship.

Finally, he'd fallen asleep next to her, his mind numbed by the drone of the late-night talk shows and eventually infomercials. It was much to the detriment of his spinal column as he woke up with a crick in his neck and a pain in his lumbar region. Cora stifled a laugh as he stretched to pop what he could and relieve the tension, making strained faces as he twisted his torso towards her. "Glad to be of some entertainment," he smirked. 

"You have some interesting expressions," she giggled. 

Tom loved the sound of her happy, her suppressed laughter was music to his ears and made him smile. He couldn't be mad at her for it. "Well," he groaned, "Next time, I'll just pick you up and move you."

She batted her eyes at him. "Who says there will be a next time?"

Before he left, he'd tried to make sure she was comfortable, that she had everything she needed. It wasn't that he doubted her own capacity to take care of herself, but more that he was hesitant to let her leave for anything, the feeling that, were she to go anywhere in public, she'd be taken from him. Why the danger loomed so heavy in his mind, he didn't know. What he did know was that it was a dull ache and that it felt exactly like the ache he remembered from his accident. He didn't see himself as the prophesying type, but he'd learned to trust his instincts - not that he always followed them.

In his respect as the consummate worrier, he tapped his pencil on his desk at regular intervals, watching the clock until he could have a moment to call Cora, not necessarily to check on her, but more to make sure she didn't need anything. As the minutes on the clock ticked by, he could think of little else than her, to the detriment of his own work. He tried to concentrate, but she perforated his focus enough that he missed several key documents in his filing. His stomach churned and his mind felt like he was operating in a stupor.

His haze was broken by the sharp voice of Director Davis. "Hiddleston," he barked over the intercom, "My office, now."

Tom's heart caught in his chest and he froze for a moment. The thoughts that rushed through his mind came in a torrent of apprehension and, numb, he stood from his desk and made his way to Davis' office. Once he got there, he pushed open the door that was already ajar. "Sir?" he addressed, his voice weak with nerves.

Davis was sitting at his desk, but turned around and watching out the window. "Come in, son," he said, keeping his stance.

"Yes, sir." Tom stepped into the office and took a seat at the wooden chair adjacent the Director. "What did you want to see me about?"

Director Davis spun around and leaned towards him, elbows on the desk, eyebrows drawn in deep thought as he peered out from under his bushy eyebrows. "Tom," he finally said, his expression relaxing, "You worry me, sometimes."

"Why is that, sir?" Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

"You care so much for your work that I think you lose judgement," Davis answered. "Did you know that woman from the wreck was missing?"

Tom slowly shook his head. "No, I didn't," he replied, hoping his poker face held enough that he wouldn't give anything away. "What happened?"

Davis shrugged. "I don't know," he sighed. "She disappeared from the hospital they transferred her to. The guard they had on her door went for a smoke break and that's when they think she escaped."

"It sounds like she's thought of as a convict," Tom scowled with disgust. "It's not her fault she was on that boat."

With a chuckle, Davis smiled. "And, see, that's why I like you, Tom," he said. "You have this innate conscientiousness that emanates from within." He pounded his fist on the desk. "That girl has some sort of medical condition that is of great interest to the scientific community and she seems to be even more of a novelty to the federal authorities. Did you know the FBI is involved?"

Tom's eyes widened. "I hadn't, no." His breathing began to pick up and he hoped Davis didn't notice the tiny drops of sweat that appeared on his forehead. "Why would they be involved?"

The Director shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I want you to find her first," he said. "If we have her, she'll be safe."

"How do you know?" Tom asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. "How can you guarantee her safety?"

Davis pursed his lips. "I can't, but I can tell you this much..." he licked his lips and tapped his fingers on his arms, "She's got to be someone special for them to want to get their grubby mitts on her. I would hazard a guess that she's a spy and that all this medical shit is nonsense they've made up to make sure the proper authorities are alerted when she turns up." He relaxed and leaned forward. "You'd tell me if you saw her, wouldn't you, Tom?"

Taking a deep breath, Tom nodded. "I couldn't jeopardize my career for anything like that," he answered. He tried his hardest to keep a calm demeanor, even though he was even more worried than before. Director Davis was a wonderful man, but Tom didn't feel he could confide in him yet. His impressions were that, while the director was generally a man of his word, he was also first and foremost a career man, willing to do what he could to get ahead. Tom wanted to make sure Cora would be alright before he made any more moves.

"Good man," Davis smiled. "I've noticed you've been distracted today. Anything going on at home I should know about?"

That was it, Tom thought, he'd been found out. Even though he was sure everything was written on his face, he shook his head. "No, sir, just a little fight with the girlfriend."

"I wasn't aware you had a girlfriend." Davis seemed impressed. "I'm sorry to hear about that."

"Thank you, sir," Tom smiled, sure it was weak and transparent. "May I get back to work, now?" He began to rise from his seat even before getting the go-ahead.

Director Davis nodded. "You may." He watched as Tom made his way to the door, opening it and sliding out before calling, "Oh, Tom?"

Tom poked his head back in, obviously worried. "Sir?"

"You're doing a wonderful job, despite your setbacks." 

"Thank you, sir." Tom closed the door, letting it softly meet the frame and click shut. He leaned against the wall and let out a deep breath. He wasn't sure what he could do and he was certain that, eventually, Orrin Davis would find out the truth, that he was hiding Cora, that she was closer than anyone thought. 

He returned to his desk and flipped his computer back on, intent on getting the work done with the possibility of leaving early. Upon opening his browser, he saw the headline: "Boat Accident Woman Public Health Threat." A lump formed in his throat. The FBI was enlisting the help from the general public, scaring them into supporting the search for Cora. with a dry mouth, he picked up his cell phone to call her. She answered on the third ring. "Cora," he said, his voice sounding out of breath, before he waited for her to say anything. "Stay away from the windows. Stay in the apartment. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," she replied. She was sleepy, he could tell, her voice soft and slightly rough with slumber. "Why?"

"Just do it," he said. "I'll explain when I get home." He didn't want to keep her in the dark any more than he had to, but he felt a certain protective secrecy was in order so she didn't run again. Her fear of whatever was happening in the hospital was deep and he was sure if she knew the real danger she faced, he'd find her gone the moment he got home. "I'll be there soon."

The call was short and to the point and gave Tom ample time to finish inputting the field reports before begging off an emergency from Director Davis. He was sure Orrin would be suspicious of his leaving after their conversation, but the man's voice lent nothing to it. "I understand," he said after Tom related a believable story about his apartment flooding because of the washing machine. Tom was able to leave right away.

On his way home, he thought someone was tailing him. Though it was midday, the cloud cover was dark with storm, heavy with impending rain and hung low on the horizon, giving the illusion that the sun was a myth and that darkness was the law of the land. His headlights cut through the fog and he noticed those of the car behind him were getting dangerously close. He didn't want to lead whoever was in the car directly to Cora, so he exited the highway and veered towards the center of the nearest small town between work and home. The lights followed.

Tom's heart was pounding as he drove, determined to keep calm, to act like he didn't know what was happening. His first instinct was to find somewhere inhabited, even remotely busy, and he found that place in the center of town. There was a strip mall, tiny by city standards, that hosted a grocery store, a drug store, and a liquor store. The parking lot was almost to capacity and Tom thought it was the perfect place to blend it. He maneuvered his car into the driveway and wove up and down the rows until he found an open spot. 

The car behind him was blocked by another vehicle as it pulled out, caught in the labyrinth of automobiles and shoppers. The spot Tom found was a convenient one - nestled between a car of similar make, model and color and an oversized SUV. He hoped it would be enough.


	7. Incognito

Cora was in her usual spot - the corner of the sofa, feet up, knees tucked into her chest with the oversized shirt stretched over them, looking out the window - when Tom arrived home. She wasn't expecting him home, yet, and, though he burst through the door in a tizzy, it didn't startle her. "I expected you later," she said, her voice calm, even, as she didn't remove her attention from the sea.

"We need to go," Tom commanded. "They're after you."

"I know," she replied. When she turned to look at him and unfolded herself, he could see the ocean in her eyes - the swirling blue-greens, the seafoam, a microcosm of life, all there. "What do you propose we do?"

He's come in with a plastic pharmacy bag in his hands and held it out to her. "All I can think of is changing your appearance," he sighed. "Right now they're looking for a woman who looks like... well... you. It'll give us a chance to at least get a head start on the feds."

She took the bag from him and opened it. Inside, there was a pair of scissors, a brush, a comb, a box of blonde hair dye and some make-up. "I don't know what to do with any of this," she said as she set it down on the sofa. Her eyes began to tear up. "Am I supposed to?"

Tom shook his head and sat down on the other end of the sofa, reaching out with a sympathetic pat on her knee. "No," he replied, his demeanor softening, "You don't." He chuckled. "I don't either, to be honest. But I called in reinforcements."

Right after he said it, the words still hanging in the air, there was a knock on the door. It was soft, the kind that didn't sound like it came from someone in charge, but rather someone who wanted to remain undetected. A muffled voice came from the other side of the door in a loud whisper. "It's Liz."

A knowing look passed between Tom and Cora as he stood up. "She's alright," Cora smiled. Tom wasn't sure if she was drawing on some odd sixth sense, but he nodded and returned her smile before walking to the door.

Liz burst into the room in a flurry of color and excitement. "No kisses this time, Pretty Boy," she announced with a smirk. "Now, you were so secretive on the phone." She set down the many shopping bags she was carrying in the middle of the living room. "I brought those like you asked," she motioned to the bags. "Care to tell me what this is about?"

Tom shut the door behind her. "Thanks for coming, Liz," he greeted. "Please, have a seat."

"Who are you?" Liz said when she spied Cora on the sofa. Realization dawned on her and her mouth formed into a knowing O. "Wait," she froze, "Are you her?" Without waiting for Cora's answer, she turned to Tom. "Is that her?"

"Yeah," Tom answered. "Liz, meet Coralline."

Cora stood and extended her hand to Liz. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, her voice exuding warmth, but her demeanor calm and cool.

"You're like a local celebrity," Liz gushed as she took her hand back and held it against her chest. "Wow."

"Now, Liz," Tom said once she'd perched on the edge of an armchair opposite Cora, "The reason I called you is because I need your help. You're the only one I can trust."

Liz made a face, squinting her eyes and puckering her lips before sucking in her cheeks and then letting it go with a pop. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Tom sat down on the sofa next to Cora and put his arm up on the back behind her. He took a deep breath. "I've got to be honest, Liz," he finally said, "There's someone after me. It might be the feds, it might not be. They followed me from the office and I lost them in the drug store parking lot."

"How'd you manage that?" she laughed.

He didn't return her humor. "Their car got blocked in by a mini van," he explained. "I sped out of there before they could follow me and ended up far enough down the road, making a few turns, that they had no idea where I went."

"You're lucky they didn't put a tracker on your car already," she responded with amusement.

Shaking his head, he replied, "They probably had no suspicions until today, which is why we need to move quickly."

She nodded. "Alright, what do you need me to do?"

He pointed to the bag of implements Cora had placed on the table. "We need to transform her," he said, motioning towards Cora. "She can't look like herself at all. They can't recognize her."

For a moment, Liz scrutinized the packages on the table, then scowled at Tom. "Why do you need me to do it?" she asked with offense. "Is it because I'm a woman?" She pointed at Cora. "She's a woman, what's wrong with her doing it?"

Tom gasped. "I... I..." he stuttered, "I just thought..."

Liz grinned and began laughing. "It's ok," she snorted, "I'm kidding. I know you need someone on the inside. I'm your man, or, rather, your woman." She grabbed the bag of items from the table. "Now, let's see what you've got." She sifted through them, casting an occasional glance at Cora with an interested hum before setting them back down. "I know what I can do."

Cora gave Tom a look of apprehension as Liz instructed her to go into the bathroom and undress, then come back out wrapped in a towel. He nodded, hoping it was enough to reassure her. "I wish I knew what was happening with her," he said to Liz as she prepared the box of hair color. "She has no memory of the accident, of anything before it, either. And she always seems so distant, like she's lost in another world."

"Traumatic brain injuries are nothing to mess with," Liz warned. "I hope for her sake that she didn't have something bad, like bleeding in the brain."

"I'm pretty sure there would have been more precautions taken at the hospital, if that was the case," he replied.

The bathroom door opened and Cora emerged, her body wrapped with one of Tom's navy blue towels, holding it together over her breasts. "Do you want me to just... hold this?" she asked, perplexed.

With a giggle, Liz shook her head. "No," she answered, "Tuck it into itself. In between your breasts works the best. She watched with amusement as Cora tried and failed, almost losing the towel along with her dignity. "Let me help you," she finally said as she stood up. Casting a warning look at Tom, she twirled her finger at him. "Turn around, the girl needs some privacy, please," she instructed.

He turned his back to them, but he could hear Liz's gentle instructions and the grateful acknowledgement of Cora. Even though his initial interactions with Liz were abrasive, he was glad he'd called her. She was a woman he could trust, and, given his present circumstances, it was a huge asset. Once she told him he could face them, again, he smiled. "Thanks for this, Liz, I really appreciate it."

Cora was seated on a bar stool, her back reclined, her hair hanging over the back of it. She had her eyes closed and seemed unbothered by the way Liz yanked on her hair with a comb. Once her hair was completely smooth, Liz instructed her to sit up and she did, keeping her eyes closed as she adjusted. "I'm going to cut your hair, first, then we'll dye it, okay?" Liz asked, waiting for Cora to nod before holding a lock of her hair and snipping it with the scissors. 

"How experienced are you with cutting hair?" Tom asked, a sudden worry tinging his voice.

"Don't worry," Liz replied, "I've been to beauty school. Did that before I worked for NOAA." It was an unexpected aspect of her personality, but not completely unbelievable. She did look like an expert as she combed and cut, section by section, until Cora's long hair was trimmed into a neat chin-length bob, the rest of her long locks strewn about Liz's feet and the legs of the bar stool like wisps of webbing. 

"It feels so different," Cora observed as she brought her fingers up to brush through her new length. "My neck is cold."

Tom laughed. "You'll get used to it."

Liz set the scissors and comb down on the table next to her. "Would you like to go see what it looks like?"

Cora nodded. She stood up from the bar stool and stretched, careful not to let her towel fall. Taking a deep breath, she padded across the floor to the bathroom. She turned the light on and stepped inside, closing the door with a soft thump, sealing herself in. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger, something that made her pat her cheek to make sure she was real. She had no recollection of what she looked like, no memory of the features she could feel herself touching, and she'd never made an attempt to look in the mirror after her rescue. The woman staring back at her would have been no less a stranger with the now-gone locks, of that she was sure. 

"Cora," Tom knocked gently on the door, "Are you alright?"

She opened the door. "I am," she answered as she brushed past him, but he could tell that the image of herself without her hair long must've been jarring. He had no idea.

"Come on over and we'll get started with phase two," Liz smiled as she beckoned Cora back to the chair. "I promise, it'll be quick and painless."

With guarded resignation, Cora sat down. It was one thing to only get to know herself, entirely another to now loose that vision and replace it with yet another stranger. She closed her eyes as Liz worked the formula through her shorter hair, her body remaining still as a statue, even when a drop of cool hair color landed on her neck. The smell of the chemicals was disconcerting, but even that wasn't enough to disturb her peace. She knew there was an outcome more desirable than her current situation, one where she knew who she was, knew what she was doing in the world and was not wanted by scientists and government officials alike.

Time entered an alternate reality, it seemed, as Liz worked on Cora. Tom paced the floor near them, bracing himself with each unusual noise, even though it turned out to be something benign, like a neighbor slamming a door. He was sure that, eventually, the feds that followed him would burst through the door, take Cora, arrest he and Liz. When Liz took Cora into the kitchen to rinse the color out, he began to relax. 

"Now, let's go give you a blow dry and a style," Liz said as she escorted Cora back into the bathroom. Neither of them looked at Tom as they passed him. 

When the women emerged from the bathroom, Tom did a double-take. Gone were the long tangle of locks he'd become accustomed to seeing on Cora, replaced by the blond bob, pulled back so he could see her face, see the delicate features, her eyes as they looked to him for approval. "Wow," he gasped, "You look amazing."

Cora blushed. "Thank you," she said, her voice a bare squeak of sound. 

"He's right," Liz agreed, "You look gorgeous." She motioned towards Cora's face with a flourish of her hand. "And not even a bit of make-up. You've got perfect skin, sister."

A flush crept up Cora's neck at the compliment. She fought the urge to run back into the bathroom and hide, crouched in the bathtub. "I'm going to get dressed, now," she said as she moved to grab one of the bags of clothing Liz brought.

"So, what are you going to do, now?" Liz asked once she'd left the room.

Tom shrugged. "I don't know."


	8. Tempest

It seemed odd waking up on the floor in Liz's tiny apartment. Tom took a few moments to get his bearings - bleary-eyed and foggy-minded as he took in his surroundings. Her place was half the size of his own, a small box tucked in the ignominy of other small boxes. She kept the walls bare, with the exception of a cross that hung over the television against the wall opposite of where he was. Everything else was utilitarian, from the bookshelf stacked neatly with science books to the small cafe table in the corner with a vase and a single flower stem in it. Immaculate. Judging by Liz's character, it wasn't something he expected, but it also wasn't entirely unwelcome.

Cora stirred from her spot on Liz's gray Ikea sofa, a soft sigh emanating from her mouth as she shifted position. The make-over was a success, he thought. She no longer looked like the otherworldly being they'd pulled from the ocean. Instead, she was transformed, an angel, ethereal and almost incorporeal to him. The blonde hair served only to make her seem more pale, more porceline, more delicate and he was almost afraid to touch her. 

She yawned and opened her eyes, gazing at him, catching him as he stared at her. He felt guilty, the way a child does when their mother warns them against staring into the sun, and that's exactly what watching her felt like to him. Staring into the sun. "Good morning," she said with a tired smile.

"Morning," he returned, mumbling as he sat up and ran his fingers through his short curls. "Did you sleep well?"

"Did you?" she asked with a smirk, motioning to Tom's predicament on the floor. "It doesn't look comfortable." 

He shrugged. "It'll pass until I can find something more suitable."

Cora sat up and scooted over, pulling the blankets with her. "At least come sit up here where it's more comfortable. I promise I don't bite."

"Alright." He pushed himself off the floor, the gravity of its hardness finally setting in as his sore muscles began to ache and he let out a groan. "I don't know if I can handle another night on that." A stretch overcame him as he stood up, lengthening his already impressive height as he reached for the ceiling. "Nope, not happening."

"You don't need to worry about that," came a voice from behind him. Liz. "I've got a couple friends that run a bed and breakfast up in the San Juans and they said you could lie low there for a while."

Tom scowled. "What about work?" 

"You've got vacation time accrued, now, haven't you?" she gave him a quirky smile as he sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. 

"I have," he sighed, "But I don't think I could afford a bed and breakfast."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Consider it a professional courtesy. They are a pair of amateur cryptozoologists and highly interested in our girl here." She hiked a thumb towards Cora. 

"No," Cora gasped. She envisioned the worst, whatever that was. Needles, dissection, lifetime spent in a cage, or worse, in a bottle.

"Relax," Liz smiled, "They only want to talk to you, to ask you if there was anything unusual you saw during the accident."

Tears formed in Cora's eyes and her placid smile melted into a frown. "But..." she whispered, "I don't remember anything."

"Ever heard of hypnotherapy?" Liz asked. When Cora shook her head, she explained. "They have another friend, a psychologist, who can direct you into your own mind, make you see things that are locked away, otherwise. It's pain-free and then, you'll know. Who knows, you might be able to remember who you are."

Tom reached across and grasped Cora's hand, an act that both surprised and comforted her. "If that's all it is, you'll be fine." His look was endearing, something she hadn't expected before and it made the compulsion to pull her hand from his lessen in an instant. "It could be our only chance."

"Alright," she acquiesced, turning her attention to Liz, who was fiddling with some food in the closet of a kitchen. "I'll go."

Liz snorted and said, under her breath, "Like you even had a choice."

"What?" Cora asked, unable to decipher what she'd heard. 

"I'll call them and let them know to expect you," Liz replied. "You can take my car."

It was a solid plan. While Tom had not actually thought through the mire that he was in, Liz obviously had. The feds would be looking for his car, not hers. "What about you?" he asked with concern. "You can't exactly drive my car."

Liz emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray piled high with sliced fruits, cheeses, bagels, smoked salmon and cups of coffee. "I know I can't," she answered as she set the tray down. "That's why you're going to sign it over to me. I'll sign mine over to you. We'll file them later. Then I can tell them I bought it from you."

"You're crazy," he laughed. "Do you think they'll really buy that story?"

She pursed her lips. "Doesn't matter," she replied. "As long as you get to the island undetected."

He nodded. She had a point. Except he wasn't sure what was going to happen once they'd reached the island. He was unsure where they would go from there, how they would go, even what was going to happen once they got there. It was a mountain of uncertainty that grew in his gut with apprehension. "When should we leave?"

"After you eat," Liz smiled as she handed him an apple slice.

The three of them ate in silence, their minds all wandering winding paths to the same conclusions. Tom's eyes scanned between the two women, who returned his looks with equal amounts of hesitation and concern. The unspoken question between all of them was, "What if it doesn't work?" though they were all loathe to answer it. 

Once breakfast was gone, Tom and Liz signed their titles over to each other. It seemed like such a final act, a commitment to the simple act of rebellion they'd all engaged in. "Thanks, Liz," Tom said as he handed his title over to her. "I know we don't know each other well. I'd like to think we'd have been great friends, if given the chance."

She winked at him. "Don't count on it, pretty boy. I don't think that was in the cards. Now, though, I never imagined you had this side to you."

"What side?" he cocked his eyebrow at her and caught a glimpse of Cora staring at them with her mouth agape from the other side of the room.

Liz chuckled. "I just never imagined you, Mr. Perfect, would be engaging in willful disobedience. Impressive." She snatched the paper from his hand and shoved her own title into it. "Get out of here, now. Good luck and goodbye." The last was said with cool amusement as she turned from him and walked towards the door, next to which hung her car keys on a hook on the wall.

Tom slung the bags of clothing over one arm and crooked his finger to receive her keys. "Thank you, again," he said with honesty. "I don't know what else I would've done." He knew Liz wasn't going to say anything. If anything, his sincerity made her wince. With a smirk, he walked past her and through her open door. 

"Thank you, Liz," he heard Cora say, her voice muffled as she received a hug to which he wasn't privy to. 

"You're so welcome," Liz answered. "Just the opportunity to know you, just phenomenal."

At her last comment, Tom turned around and cocked an eyebrow. Liz shrugged and closed the door. "I wonder what she meant by that," he commented as Cora came to stand by his side.

"I have no idea," Cora sighed. "Maybe she knows something we don't."

He shook his head. "Doubt it. She'd have told us."

With luck, the hallways of Liz's apartment complex were devoid of life, save the mewing of a couple feral cats that scurried away as soon as Tom stooped down to pet them. They traversed the maze and arrived at the underground garage. Tom sighed as he saw his own car and then stuck the key in to unlock Liz's beater. He couldn't help but feel like she was getting the better deal, trading her dented, scratched, patchworked VW Bug for his sleek, immaculate Honda. 

Tom tossed the bags into the back seat of the bug and then held the door open for Cora. "I guess this is as hidden as we can get," he quipped. "I doubt the feds will be looking for this junker."

Cora looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry you had to give up your nice car," she apologized as she slid into the seat and let him close the door behind her.

"Don't be," he answered as he climbed into the driver's seat. "I could've chosen to turn you in, or to keep driving the other night, but I chose not to." He turned to look at her, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized her. 

"Why didn't you?" She couldn't look him in the eyes. Instead, she stared out the window, her eyes fixed on the blinking light above the security camera in the far corner of the garage. "I'm not worth all of this, really."

He followed her gaze. "Looks like we're being watched," he said softly. His cell phone buzzed with a notification and he glanced down to see a text from Liz that read: GARAGE CAM- A -OK. He chuckled. She'd taken care of it. "Guess it helps having a friend like Liz."

Cora nodded, but remained silent as the Bug sputtered at first, then roared to life. She leaned against the door, angled away from Tom, still averting her eyes from him. "Liz is wonderful," she agreed. She turned her face to see him in the soft sulfur light of the garage. "She likes you, too, even if you don't think so."

"Yeah?" he asked, impressed. "Because I kind of got the idea she didn't."

"Don't let it fool you," Cora replied. "I think you're pretty great, too." She smiled, just a tiny turning of the corners of her prefect lips, but it nearly undid him.

Tom cleared his throat and maneuvered the car out of the parking spot, then up the ramp and out of the garage. It stalled on the incline, but a well-placed punch on the gas and it leaped into the empty street. 

It was still early. They saw minimal cars on the roads as they drove north, hoping they'd also beat the throngs on the Island ferries. It was the off-season, so they imagined the crowds would be considerably less. 

Halfway up the peninsula, Tom pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot of a small cafe. Cora was dozing, her head pressed against the window, her arms crossed over her chest. She startled when he turned the motor off. "Where are we?" she asked as she stretched.

"Getting something to eat," Tom smiled. "I'm starved. That food that Liz gave us was enough to stave it off until now." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flicked on the screen. No messages, nothing that said he was missed at the office. He doubted that he'd get any. Chances were that the FBI already had informed his superiors that he wouldn't be there. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," she answered. 

He got out of the car and then helped her out. They walked into the diner and seated themselves, following the worn and faded sign that hung off the front of the ancient cash register. Within moments of picking up the sticky menu that sat in the metal rack with the salt, pepper, syrup, sugar, and various other condiments, a waitress appeared at their table. "What can I get you?" she asked, overly smiling despite the gum she chewed. She wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a black polo shirt that had seen better days. 

"Thank you, Mindy," Tom smiled, addressing her by the name on the badge pinned to her shirt. He raised his eyebrow in deference to Cora. "Would you like some more time to decide, darling?"

"Actually," she grinned as she turned towards the waitress, "I would love a nice cup of hot coffee and some French Toast."

Mindy wrote on a paper pad she produced from the back pocket of her jeans. "How would you like your eggs?"

"None, please," Cora scowled. "I'm not a fan of eggs."

Tom was amused by Cora's expression. When he realized that both she and Mindy were looking at him, he blushed. "Coffee and pancakes with bacon, eggs over-easy, please," he ordered.

"Coming right up," Mindy chuckled as she finished writing his order down. She turned back towards the kitchen and walked away, yelling their order to the cook in the back.

He spied an old pay-phone on the wall next to the restrooms. "Excuse me," he said as he stood up. "I need to make a call." Cora looked confused and he explained, "Just in case we're being tracked."

He took his cell phone with him, just to use as a phone book, scrolling through his contacts until he reached the name of the person he wanted to call. The pay phone handset was sticky and Tom reached towards a nearby table and pulled a napkin from the dispenser. "Does this still work?" he asked Mindy when he saw the queer expression on her face. She nodded.

He dialed for a collect call and said his name on instruction from the automated dialer. It was years since he'd needed to do that - long enough that he wasn't even sure he remembered how to do it. The line on the other end rang a couple times before it was answered. The voice on the other end said, "Yes," to accepting the charges, then Tom heard, "I take it this is an emergency?"

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. "Kama," he said, his voice suddenly full of emotion at the man's wizened voice. "Yes, I'm in trouble."

"Gods, Haole," Kama groaned. "What did you do, boy?"

"Well," Tom answered, steeling himself for what he expected would be a critical judgment from Kama after he told the story. He described the events that led up to his flight, facts only, no big detail.

Once Tom was done, Kama remained silent for a moment. "I always knew you were destined for something like this, Haole," he finally said. "You need to come home and bring the woman with you."

"The FBI is after us," Tom explained again, "I can't travel from the mainland without getting caught."

Kama didn't take his excuse. With a snort, he grunted, "Haole, trust in your mo'o. Go where she leads." He didn't wait for Tom's reply, instead hung up and the line clicked, dead.

Tom returned to the table just as their food came and slid glumly into the booth on the opposite side of Cora. He stared at his food, the gnawing that was present in his belly in the car now reduced to an ache that had moved into his chest. "I'm not sure what to do, now," he said, his voice flat and almost a whisper. Had his mind not been whirling, he was sure tears would've flowed. "The one man I could count on for anything just let me down."

Cora reached across the table and placed her hand on his forearm, a gentle yet reassuring touch. "What did he say?" she asked.

"Trust in my mo'o..." he answered, his eyes flicking up and catching hers. "Whatever that means. It's a Hawaiian term. I've just got to figure out what it means."

She smiled and squeezed. "I'm sure you'll figure it out when the time comes," she said. "Let's concentrate on eating and getting to the island."

He nodded and picked up his fork with his free hand, stabbing the pancake stack in front of him. "You're right," he agreed. "First things first."


	9. Voyage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so long coming... life got in the way a bit. I'll be trying to get more posted as I can, but updates might be far between.

Tom and Cora arrived at the island in the late afternoon, exhausted with road weary eyes. Unsure if she knew or remembered how to operate a vehicle, Tom drove the entire way, stopping before the ferry dock only for a quick bathroom break at one of the rest stops along the highway where they stretched their legs, got free coffee from a kindly old woman who sat behind a cashier's-type window and relieved themselves. 

To their relief, the ferry was relatively empty, save the company of only a half-dozen of tourists and a handful of island residents. He wanted to stay in the car for the short voyage across the strait, but before he could make his wishes known, Cora was out of the car and heading up the stairs to the main deck. After climbing out of his seat and locking the doors, he followed her, calling after her to wait for him, his only answer from her was a giggle.

Cora was at the front end of the boat when he found her, her body pressed against the railing as she leaned over and watched the water as it broke against the hull. "It's so beautiful here," she exclaimed as she leaned back to greet him with a smile.

"Have you ever been up here before?" he asked before realizing that if she did, she had no memory of it.

She scowled. "At least I'm here now," she shrugged. The smile reappeared as she caught sight of a seagull as it drifted in the wind over their heads, a simulation of suspended animation as its extended wings held it in stasis with the ferry. Turning her attention back to Tom, she observed, "You feel a kinship with the sea, don't you?"

He nodded. "I do," he replied. "It's a second home of sorts. In fact, maybe more than that. More than my real home, at least."

"Tell me about your home," she prodded. "What was it like."

Tom chuckled. "Well," he sighed, "I loved my mum to death, but she wasn't the best mum." He explained to her the circumstances of his upbringing, trying his hardest top defend his mother. It wasn't until he got to Kama, though, that Cora showed any more than a fleeting interest. "Kama is the Father, Grandfather, Uncle, Brother, that I never had as I grew up," he acknowledged. "When all was said and done, he was my greatest mentor and and even greater friend."

"Have you called him?" She asked. "I mean, since we've been gone."

"I did," he replied with a smirk. "I called from the diner and told him about you. He told me to trust my lizard." The cryptic message from Kama made him chuckle and, in turn, Cora grinned. "I have no idea what that was about, but Kama, he's a bit of an eccentric old man."

She smiled. "He sounds like a wise old man to me," she said. "Did he really say 'lizard'?"

He shook his head. "Yes, but no," he shrugged. "He said mo'o, but that's Hawaiian for lizard."

Cora looked astonished. "I have a feeling he knows more than he's letting on."

"Yeah, me, too."

There was a queer way she looked at him, just then, like she knew something more to the story he told, like she was one of the narrators and he the only audience, clueless as to what was coming. When he raised his eyebrow at her in question, she only gave him a mysterious smile and shook her head in resignation. Her eyes stayed on him, though, studying him, moving over his features as though she was memorizing each divot, each pore, each fine like around his eyes that, given time, would deepen with each smile and each laugh with distinguish.

Tom watched her back, his throat suddenly dry as he swallowed. He could have sworn he saw the sea in her eyes, reflected back at his own, teeming with life. In his fascination, he stepped closer to her, bridging the gap between them that was already minimal. His movements were not his own, but rather the automatic responses made by a man under a spell. Magic, witchcraft, influence, motivated him and propelled him forward, animated his hands to reach out and grasp her shoulders, grip soft but firm, and pull her the rest of the way to him. And then his lips were upon hers, sweeping in a gentle motion, just barely grazing.

Cora tensed up and he let go, the spell broken. She held her hand to her mouth and a blush crept over her skin. "What?" she whispered.

He took a step back, embarrassed by his behavior. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, which tasted cold and salty, the result of the spray that hung around the deck like a fog. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't normally behave like that." No longer able to look at her, he turned his eyes to the deck, concentrating on the state of his shoelaces as he ran his long fingers through his damp curls. "I'm sorry..."

This time, it was Cora who approached, closing the distance with one swift step. She grasped his wrist, stopping his hand from its nervous gesture and clasping his fingers with her own. It drew him back to her and his eyes flicked back up, catching hers. "Don't be," she said, her voice quiet and barely rising above the engines of the ferry. "I enjoyed... that."

The horn from the boat blasted, in effect ending whatever the magic of the moment was as they both startled. Without thinking, Tom grabbed Cora's hand and began pulling her into the galley. "We're docking, soon," he explained as he hurried her through the bowels of the ship, down the stairs and to the VW bug.

The wait to disembark was a study in awkward agony, Tom tapping against the steering wheel with his thumbs, his eyes glued to the attendant on the dock as he waited to be waved through, and Cora, hands folded in her lap, her own eyes gazing as she could out the window, scrutinizing the meager view from the porthole closet to them. Neither seemed eager to address the elephant that wedged itself between them - the fact that they, in the precarious limbo in which their lives were in, found each other fascinating.

When at last the agent waved them through, they both sighed in relief. The bug jolted forward as Tom pressed his foot on the pedal and the engine ceased its puttering and roared to life. 

Just as they exited the ferry and began to drive away, a man in uniform stepped in front of the vehicle and two others stepped from the peripherals to flank them. Tom stopped the car and pulled the brake as he rolled down the creaky window. "Is there something wrong?" he asked the man closest to him.

"Please turn the car off and step out, sir," the man instructed, his face and voice both devoid of emotion. 

Tom nodded, but felt Cora's hand on his arm as he reached for the key. She squeezed and whispered, "I don't feel good about this," under her breath.

Instead of grasping the key and turning the engine off, Tom grabbed the gear shift and threw the car into first, letting it lurch forward, menacing enough to cause the man in front of him to leap out of the way, almost landing himself in the water to the side of the platform. It gave Tom and Cora just enough space to dodge through, their car puttering as it picked up speed with Tom shifting gears, until they were zooming away, the posse of men angered and yelling behind them until they appeared as nothing more than silent ants in the rear view mirror.

"How did they find us?" Cora asked, her eyebrows furrowed with worry.

He shook his head and was about to say he didn't know when his cell phone rang. The din from his ringtone shattered the bubble of tension that grew in the cab of the car. "My phone," Tom groaned. "GPS tracking." It stopped ringing just as he picked it up. "We need to get rid of it." 

Cora took the device as he handed it to her. "Should I just throw it out of the window?" she asked.

"Not yet," he answered. "First, I need a couple numbers from it." He pulled the car to the shoulder of the road and reached behind her seat to grab a pen and paper he'd seen on the floorboards when they'd packed the car. The paper was scrawled with the chicken scratch handwriting of Liz, a shopping list, he guessed. He flipped the pages until he found a blank one. "Let me trade you," he instructed. "You write and I'll tell you what to write."

"Ok." Cora handed the phone back and took the paper and pen from Tom. She concentrated as he read off the numbers, first Liz's and then Kama's. 

"That ought to do it," he announced as he threw the phone into the bushes. He hoped that was all it would take to throw the fed off his trail, for that was what he was certain the men at the ferry terminal were - FBI, Federal Agents. Throwing the car into gear, he pulled back onto the road and sped towards the safe house, hoping against hope that they would be safe.

The island itself was small. The ferry terminal was located at the south end in the largest town, Eastsound, which was filled with quaint old buildings, many of them faded and peeling, but not diminished of their sensible Victorian architecture style. Were Tom and Cora n vacation, they would have stopped to peruse the antiques and perhaps bought postcards from the souvenir shops that boasted the island's history. They sped through these with haste, careful only not to alert the local authorities by observing all traffic laws and speed limits until they reached the northern edges of the town. From there, it was open road, asphalt that was cracked in places, flanked by scores of trees and meadows with livestock that were content to chew on the sweet grasses that grew there.

Liz's friends lived on the northwest side of the island, near the tip of it, just past the Waldronair Airport, which was little more than a single runway and a few out buildings - tiny, regional. The houses on that side were few and far between, perfect to live in for a recluse, or someone on the run. 

As Tom followed Liz's directions and emerged at the far end of a gravel road come driveway, a two-story, log cabin-style house loomed on the edge of a bluff. Though it stood out against the blue sky and the gray-green waters in the distance, it blended in with the trees that stood around it. Camouflaged, it was nearly invisible from the air. There were no power lines to the house, but an outbuilding that was nearly hidden by the house itself boasted solar panels. 

They pulled the car closer and parked it in front of the house as a woman emerged from the front door. She appeared ghost-like and ethereal, almost materializing through the wood rather than having opened the door. Her white dress flapped in the sea winds that swirled around her and mussed her long blond hair as she stepped onto the front porch with a smile and a wave. When Tom and Cora were both out of the car and had grabbed their things, the woman yelled, "Welcome, come in!"

Though the sun was out, it was much cooler on the island that Tom thought it would be. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cora shiver and sprinted to her. "Let me warm you a little," he said as he wrapped his arm around her. He wasn't sure what to expect, whether she would shy away from him or outright push him off. Instead, she cast a grateful glance up at him before letting him guide her towards the woman on the porch.

At the woman's beckoning, they stepped through the front door and into a room that was both cozy and classic. The walls were painted a cream color that made everything seem a bit warmer, the sofa and matching arm chairs in burgundy leather, the coffee table, end tables and console under the flat-panel television at the other end of the room all in honey oak. There was a river-rock fireplace nestled in a corner, its hearth piled with wood in a silver tin bucket and a rustic log staircase next to it. The floors were gleaming wood, polished and shiny, but almost covered with a mass of miscellaneous throw rugs. "This is quite the place," he commented. "Beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it," the woman smiled. "My name is Diana. Liz told me you were on your way."

Tom set his bag down and held out his hand. "Tom," he introduced as he grasped her hand. "And this is Cora."

Diana took Cora's hand in her own. "You have quite the energy," she commented. "I think I am going to be very pleased we've met."

"I hope so," Cora replied, not sure of what to think of the situation. 

"Well," Diana said as she took a deep breath, "Let's get you settled in. I'm sure you'd both like to rest after that trip." She stopped for a moment to see them nod, then grinned as she guided them upstairs. "There will be plenty of time to chit chat later. Besides, the men are in town. I'm sure they won't want to miss anything." 

Cora followed Diana, Tom followed behind the two of them. Diana opened the first room on the left at the top of the stairs. "Here's where you'll stay," she said as she held the door.

"We're not..." Tom grimaced, "A couple."

Diana laughed. "Well," she shrugged, "I only have the one room, so if you can't share then I guess one of you can sleep on the couch. I will warn you, however, we tend to be night owls and it can get fairly noisy down there."

Cora grasped Tom's shirt and pulled him into the room with her. "Look," she said as she gestured to the furniture, "Two beds." 

He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked. The room was done in the same colors as the living room, the exception being the blue throw pillows on the matching twin beds. "I suppose we can compromise," he sighed.

"Good," Diana nodded. "I'll leave you two to get settled, then." Without waiting for an answer, she swung the door closed behind herself with a thud.


	10. Hypnotism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lag between chapters. Life took over, but will hopefully settle down soon here...

Tom awoke, not remembering where he was at first - the tones of the room muted by the dusky light that just barely managed to filter through the east-facing window and making abstract shadows of the furnishings. It wasn't until he rolled to his other side and saw Cora on the other bed, her body curled with her back to him, her long hair a wild spray on the pillow above her head, her feet poking out from under the sheets and blankets, that his mind cleared and he remembered. The cabin.

He stretched and sat up, not realizing that Cora also stirred until he looked back in her direction and saw her gazing at him, a blank expression on her face. "Did you sleep well? " he asked, the sound of his voice jarring her from her sleep drunk stupor.

Cora nodded, her eyes widening as the realization that she'd been staring at him hit her. Embarrassed, she glanced away. "Yes," she answered, "Thank you."

"Listen..." Tom began as he stood up and made his way around her bed to the door, "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. That kiss... won't happen again." He saw her flinch before her eyes flicked up to him. "Unless you want it to," he finished.

Her skin began to flush, a faint rosy pink that grew from the apples of her cheeks until her entire face was colored. "I..." she stumbled over her words like her mouth was full of marbles. "I... didn't... dislike it." Instead of averting her eyes, she studied him with a steady gaze, hoping to gauge his reaction. 

Smirking, he chuckled. "I don't know how to take that, really. I can't say I've ever had a woman say that about a kiss, much less one of mine." He turned to look at her, thoughts swirling in his head clarifying to a vision of her in his arms, succumbing to a passionate kiss. "Cora," he started to say, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

A voice followed the sharp rap on the wood. "I hear voices, does that mean you're awake?" Despite the muffling of her voice, they could tell it was Diana. 

"Come in," Cora invited. "We're only talking." 

"Please," Tom said as he opened the door and stepped out of Diana's way. 

In the early evening light, Diana appeared even more like a supernatural being, angel, fairy, goddess on high. Her skin seemed to shimmer, her silvery hair was loose and draped over her shoulders in long locks that melted into the fabric of her garments as threads. "I've been sent to inform you that both Daniel and Samian are now here and would like to start the session as soon as possible."

Cora scowled. "I'd like a bit to eat before, if that's alright."

Diana shook her head. "Hypnosis is best done on an empty stomach," she explained. "Your body is less likely to be affected by the food you consume and you'll be more in tuned with what is happening."

"I'd think the opposite would be true," Tom shrugged. "I guess not." He watched as Diana turned and left, Cora following her into the hallway, then closed the door behind himself as he brought up the rear of their little group. She led them down the stairs and into the sitting room they'd initially seen when they entered the cabin.

Two men were sitting in opposite armchairs - one younger man with dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes, with a cherubic, jolly face, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt advertising a soccer league, jeans and loafers, and one older man who shared Diana's ethereal beauty with fair hair that flowed in gentle waves to his shoulders, sparkling ice blue eyes, barely rosy cheeks, a friendly smile, dressed in a tunic and baggy pants and moccasins. They stood as Cora and Tom entered the room and bowed. "Dr. Samian Coruma," Diana introduced motioning towards the darker man as he bowed, "And, my love, Daniel." She moved to the side of the lighter man and grasped his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Samian is the hypnotist you were told about."

The doctor stepped closer to Cora and took her limp hand from where it hung at her side. "Such an unusual creature you are," he smiled as his fingers moved to her wrist. "A good, strong pulse." He had a hint of an accent, something Eastern that made him sound like a mystic. "I think this will be a success."

Cora blushed and withdrew from him, tempering the urge to use Tom as her shield with an awkward crossing of her arms over her bosom. "Pleased to meet you," she responded, her voice cool.

"It's alright, Darling," Tom sighed as he moved to put his arm around her shoulders in protection. She shied away from him as well, her body curling in on itself like a leaf as she distanced herself.

Sensing the immediacy of the need to make Cora comfortable, Diana moved to her side and, in a mothering gesture, gathered the younger woman into her arms, clucking and cooing. "It's alright," she comforted, "Dr. Coruma is a highly respected man in his profession."

"I'm so sorry I startled you," the doctor apologized. "I wasn't meaning to. I was simply feeling the strength of your pulse." He opened his arms towards her in a gesture of acceptance. "You, see," he explained, "Some people are more susceptible to hypnotism than others. The key lies in their genetics. You see, the higher the pulse, the less likely you are to relax enough for the therapy to work."

With a weak nod, Cora smirked, her expression belying her uncertainty towards the moment. "Where would you like me?" she asked.

Samian smiled and guided her towards the small sofa the sat adjacent to them. "Please, make yourself as comfortable as possible." As she sat down and adjusted herself, he turned towards their prospective audience. "If you would all please stay as silent as possible so as not to distract the patient, I would appreciate it. She will be in a delicate condition, very susceptible to suggestion and input from anyone other than myself would be detrimental to the treatment."

Diana and Daniel took their leave, excusing themselves to prepare the evening meal. They were gracious and graceful as they exited the room. Their absence left a void in the warmth of the room, as though all of the humanity was gone.

Tom shivered in an attempt to shake the uncomfortable silence that now surrounded him. Though there was nothing wrong with Dr. Coruma, the man himself was nice enough, cordial, not the clinical coldness he'd imagined. It was more the anticipation of the unknown that made Tom shift in the seat he'd taken in an upholstered arm chair. He began to believe he wasn't ready to know who Cora was. His mind had accepted her as she was now. Even as a lost soul, she was evolving - her personality began to come together in bits and pieces. Her past didn't matter. 

She looked at Tom right before Samian began instructing her, her eyes flicking to his and revealing her own uncertainty. Her attention was pulled away as the doctor sat on a folding metal chair that was placed in the center of their line of sight, blocking her view. Cora took a deep breath, laid her head back on the arm rest of the sofa and closed her eyes to listen. The doctor's voice was low, his words melting into the accent that tinged them. "Now, Cora," he said, "I want you to turn your head and look at me." She did as he asked, focusing on the bridge of his nose so she would appear to be looking into his eyes. The prospect of doing so made her more uncomfortable with Samian than it did with anyone else and she thought that it was because the task they were undertaking was daunting, but it was more than that - something in his demeanor that made his actions seem slightly skewed to the left, just enough to make everything he did seem off. Dr. Coruma sensed her discomfort. "Please, relax," he whispered as he leaned closer. "We may make great strides today, or we may hover just above the surface. Either outcome is positive. Some of my patients take longer than others. There is no normal."

"I'm ready," she replied after settling herself. 

Dr. Coruma nodded and pulled a pendulum from his breast pocket. "Please focus on the crystal," he instructed. "I want you to observe the way it sways, watch it circle in front of my face. Watch nothing else, say nothing." He observed as she followed the directions, her eyes fixed upon the pendulum, her breathing slowing and becoming shallow. "Now, Cora, I want you to keep watching as I talk you down." She nodded and he continued. "Ten, you feel your toes relaxing, your feet are weightless. Nine, your legs are feathers, you become light as the feeling of weightlessness moves up your legs into your torso." Tom coughed and Samian shot him a sharp warning look. Eight, the feeling moves into your pelvis, into your torso. It feels like a heat that grows in your core. Seven, feel the heat emanate out and radiate into your arms. Six, stretch your fingers as the warmth fills them, then let them go limp and curl in. Feel every muscle as it releases the tension. Five, your shoulders begin to drop and the tension starts to drain from your neck. Four, rotate your head and feel that relaxation move up your neck into your scalp. It feels as though you are in the middle of a head massage. Three, close your eyes now and lie back. All the concern is draining from your face. You are at rest. Two, you are in a state of relaxation unlike anything you've felt before. You will hear only my voice instructing you and you will remember everything from this session. One, when I snap my fingers after the session, you will awake. Do you understand?"

"I do," she answered. Her voice was calm and had an unusual timbre to it, something Tom was not used to hearing.

"Now, Cora, I want you to think back, before the accident. Where were you?"

She shivered and her hands instinctively began to rub her forearms as though she felt a chill. "I'm in the water," she said. "It's cool. I'm swimming and feeling the waves swirl around me."

Samian scribbled a note with pen and small pad of paper he produced from the same pocket that the pendulum was produced from. "I see," he mumbled as he wrote. "Let's go further back. How did you get into the water?"

A knowing smile spread across her lips. "I've always been," she purred, "Though my home is much warmer. I swam with the current and arrived..."

"So you lived somewhere tropical?" Tom blurted, garnering himself another warning from the doctor.

"I need you quiet," Samian hissed.

Shaking his head, Tom sat back in his chair and clamped his lips closed, only opening them for a sliver of tongue to dart out and whet them. He tried to imagine Cora in Hawaii, walking along his beloved beaches, swimming in the blue waters. She seemed out of place in his daydreams, yet also like she belonged there.

Cora was writhing uncomfortably against the fabric of the sofa, her foot kicking out against the end table and nearly knocking it over and managing to bring Tom out of his haze. "I don't want to be caught!" she screamed. "No!" Her eyes snapped open and she looked wildly around the room, but she recognized none of it. Instead, she was in her head, maybe in the water, maybe in the boat. "Get away!" Her voice sounded watery, like she was drowning, and she clutched at her chest, pulling at her shirt like it was constricting around her.

Tom flew from his chair to her side, disregarding Dr. Coruma's warning. He grasped her arms and tried to pull them away. "Shhhh," he cooed, "You're fine."

Samian snapped his fingers and she went limp, her body collapsing into Tom's arms. "This is too dangerous for her to do now," he grumbled. "She's fragile. I'm afraid it could break her."

She opened her eyes again and she looked up into Tom's. "You have eyes like the sea," she said, delirious. "I like that."

He chuckled. "Let's get you upstairs and to bed." As he gathered her and stood up, using the sofa arm for support, he asked Dr. Coruma, "When can she go under again? When will we know what happened?"

The doctor shook his head and pursed his lips. "Perhaps never," he finally answered.


	11. Submerged

Tom woke with a start, his soft veil of sleep perforated by the shriek of surprise that came from Cora's side of the room. He opened his eyes and turned toward her, his mouth open and ready to say comforting words to her, to assure her everything was going to be alright, but he caught two shadows as they moved, pulling a third, Cora, from the mass of blankets and pillows on the bed and towards the doorway. He had no idea what was going on, who the people were, but he was certain they were not any of the three residents of the house. "Hey!" he shouted, making one of them start. "What are you doing with her?"

A light from the hallway flicked on and flooded the doorway, a blinding distraction that made his eyes water for a moment. He blinked away the tears and leaped from his bed as a voice from one from one of the figures whispered fiercely from the enclave, "You have no business in this matter."

"The hell I don't," Tom retorted as he sped after them and grabbed the arm of the figure closest to him as the trio began to descend the cabin stairs. "She is my concern!" He grunted as he threw himself into a backwards force that hurled the person back onto the floor of the upper landing, loosening the grip on Cora's arm.

"Hey!" the other said, turning around and coming back up the stairs, tugging Cora along with. It was a man who had the chiseled hardness of the FBI in his features. "You need to desist now!" His voice boomed throughout the interior of the cabin and he seemed unconcerned about whether it would wake Diana, David, or Dr. Coruma.

Cora was frozen in her fright, terror reflected in her eyes like a gleam of unnatural light. Her breath was quick and shallow as she was tugged back up the stairs like an unwilling rag doll. "Tom, no," she mouthed. She managed to shake her head just enough so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye as he swung a fist towards her captor.

The agent who he'd grabbed initially recovered and was on his feet, strong-arming Tom as his back was turned. "In that case, you need to come with us," he hissed in Tom's ear.

"No!" Tom yelled. "Let us go!" He struggled as his hands were bound behind his back, secured with a plastic zip-tie that dug into the tender flesh of his wrists. His eyes locked with Cora's and he found, within the turmoil of the moment and the anguish that roiled beneath her surface, a calm resolve. His resistance dissolved and he took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, his voice low, even, "As long as you don't hurt Cora or me. Please."

"We're not in that business," the man who had Cora answered. "The girl's well-being is our main priority and if that is yours as well, then we're on the same team."

"I'm not sure about that," Tom grumbled under his breath as he was jerked down the stairs, forced to follow Cora and her captor down the flight, past the groggy eyes of their hosts, who still hadn't quite registered that their guests were wanted by the feds.

Diana reached out to Cora as though she wanted to touch her, ethereal being to ethereal being, but her hand recoiled in the wisp of air that brushed past as Cora was hurried toward the door. "Wait..." she whispered. Her word hung in the air like smoke that curled in a gossamer tendril, hovering in the blackness of night that surrounded them in the room, it's sheen illuminated only by the sliver of moon just outside the bay window.

Cora shot a desperate glance back, her eyes sweeping over Diana and settling on Tom. The earlier fright that resided there was gone, replaced by worry, concern, confusion. "Tom," she cried. She was silenced by a hand over her mouth.

"You'd best stay quiet," the agent said as he manhandled her out through the door. "The less you say now, the better off you'll be." She nodded in compliance.

Tom's agent followed suit, shoving him unceremoniously over the threshold and out into the cool night air.

The yard looked different in the moonlight, the forest through which they'd arrived carried an air of mystery. There were no cars on the gravel drive, which confused both Tom and Cora, until they were steered to the east of the house and heard the telltale sound of a helicopter in the distance. "I hope you're not afraid of flying," one of the agents remarked as he produced a small flashlight from his pocket. His colleague followed suit. Cora replied, "I don't know." Tom only shook his head.

They were led across the yard, past the vegetable garden, which Tom assumed was tended to by Diana, through a small stand of trees, into another clearing. The aircraft was shiny black, its metallic body reflecting the light of the flashlights the agents held. The pilot waved frantically at the four of them, beckoning them into the helicopter. She wore an Air Force uniform and a sharp expression that was obscured by only a portion of the headset she wore. As they climbed in, the agents helping both Cora and Tom in despite their bindings, she informed them of the newest developments. "General Kramer is aboard the ship," she said. "He wants a word with the man before you take the two of them below.

"Tell him we'll be there within the hour," Tom's agent nodded.

The pilot chuckled. "I can get you there even sooner." She turned towards the front of the helicopter and flipped some switches in preparation to take off as soon has the doors were closed and her passengers were securely buckled in. 

One of the agents passed ear protection to Cora and Tom, indicating that they should put the headsets on as soon as possible. When they were both secured, Tom could hear the punctuated sound of the rotors as they began picking up speed and soon they were off the ground. He tried to lean back in his seat, but his bound hands prevented any sort of comfort and his shoulders began to ache. A surreptitious glance at Cora told him she was just as uncomfortable - her shoulders were slumped and she leaned against one of the copter's tiny windows.

The quarter moon was obscured by a storm of clouds, dark and adding to the mystery of the night as they obliterated all but the bottom peak of light. At first, they could see the lights that had been switched on in the cabin following their forced departure, tiny, glowing specks that evaporated the higher the helicopter got and the further away from land it moved. Then, there was a constellation of a small town illuminated in the distance, but that, too, disappeared, only to be replaced by the blackness of the Pacific as they flew over the water. Even though he couldn't see the ocean beneath, it was a comfort just to know it was there. Cora seemed to relax over it as well. She closed her eyes and sighed.

As Tom watched out the windows over the pilot's shoulder, he hoped to get even an inkling of where they were going. He could see flashes in the clouds in the distance, a thunder storm out at sea. They were far enough away that he wasn't worried. The lightning strikes managed to highlight the peaked caps of the roiled waves that were stirred by the storms as the wind picked up. The closer the tempest got to them, Tom knew they'd see bigger swells and, if they continued on their current trajectory, they'd fly into the heart of the squall. The idea made him shudder, but he had no choice. 

The time crawled and minutes felt like hours as they flew into what seemed like oblivion. Both Tom's and Cora's arms were sore with the numbness of circulation loss. Tom gestured to the agent nearest him and hoped the man would get the idea and release him from his bonds. The agent did and, even though he rolled his eyes, cut the plastic strip between Tom's wrist. The other agent held a gun aimed squarely at Tom's heart. Tom pulled his hands in front of himself, held them up in a mock-surrender and proceeded to rub where the skin was raw, flexing his fingers to get the blood flow back, wincing at the burning feeling of pins and needles as his circulation was restored. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cora doing the same, an agent's gun also trained on her. He wanted to argue that they wouldn't try anything, that there would be no escape attempts, but the sounds and the mufflers made it impossible. Instead, he reached across the cabin and took Cora's hands in his own. He smiled at her in an attempt to comfort her in any way he could. She returned it with a tiny smirk.

Tom was awakened by the copter pitching to the side, making a sharp bank to the right as it continued along its course. He hadn't realized they'd headed away from the storm in an attempt to bypass it, but the sky had filled with a bastion of formidable storm clouds and the air inside the cabin felt electric, the tension made palpable by the static that surrounded them. He hadn't noticed himself nod off, it happened so gradually. Cora was groggy as well and she stretched her arms up towards the top of the craft as she yawned.

The pilot turned over her shoulder and grinned. "I hope you folks are all buckled in," she yelled, her voice barely carrying through the din of the rotors and the ear protection.

Just as the agents nodded their heads, the turbulence began. The aircraft was bumped through the air in a series of jolts and starts, fighting its way to their intended destination in between wind gusts and sprays of rain that showered the windshield and made visibility near impossible. Just as the pilot regained control, another blast would come, tossing the copter like a child's toy along the rolls of storm clouds. It felt like the craft was spiraling down, plunging towards the ocean waves and whitecaps that rolled beneath them as the pilot fought for control. She righted it just as it grazed the water, evening it out in a smooth motion. 

They all breathed a sigh of relief and applauded her prowess, but as soon as they went back to their own personal thoughts, the helicopter was jolted once again by a lightning strike hitting the tail propeller that sent the craft careening into the waves. There was barely time to cry, much less react before the cabin was filled with the rush of freezing salt water. 

Tom's first thought was to unbuckle his seat belt and find an air pocket, which he did, letting the rush of water carry him into the upended area of the copter. He took a deep breath and dove back into the cool darkness, his hands reaching for the last place he saw Cora. She was limp, her body pushed against the inside of the cabin my the pressure of the torrent. He felt for her seat belt, but his fingers were going numb. In a desperate attempt to prolong her ability to survive under the water, he placed his mouth over hers and forced the air from his lungs into her mouth. With the action, Cora flailed and her own hands reached for the clasp on the belt. Together they fumbled with it, all the while Tom's lungs began to burn with lack of oxygen, until it finally released. Tom grasped her hand as best as he could and pulled her towards the air pocket. 

They reached what was left of the air pocket and Tom inhaled what he could, leaving Cora to what was left, so he could try to kick out the door, the windshield, anything to escape the copter. As he felt his way through the dark craft, he realized that one of the other occupants was, at the least, unconscious, still strapped in. He reached and grabbed a wrist and felt no pulse. It was too late. The others were gone, their seats vacated and the side door pulled open just enough to allow someone to slide through.

Cora groped in the dark until she found her way to him, much to his surprise, and clutched around his waist. Together, they squeezed through the opening, not sure how far the craft had sunk, but determined to reach the surface alive. As they floated just near the copter, Tom felt Cora let go, slide her way up his body, grasp his face and kiss him, allowing his depleting air supply to refresh. He tried to struggle away, but she held him fast. Despite her effort, he began to feel the pressure of the water squeezing around his chest and diminishing the little oxygen he had left. She grabbed his hands and began to pull him upward, propelled by the careful kick of her legs, just as he blacked out.


	12. Adrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's been a while since I've updated... well, anything for that matter... anyhow, my writer's block is now gone and my stress should minimize soon, so I should find a little more time to actually write! Thanks for sticking with me :)

The heat of the mid day sun radiated on Tom's skin, burning his fair complexion. It was the sting of the blistering rays that compelled him to open his eyes. He saw only the azure blue of the sky above him, its canvas of blue unobliterated by even a hint of white cloud tendril or even a bird flying by. His head lolled to the side, his neck still weak from near death, and he could see only the seamless cerulean of water meeting sky. The salt water hit the edge of the plank he was floating on, lapping at it with a gentle tongue that caused it to splash up so slightly and sprinkle its saline on his face. Turning his head the other direction, he squinted as his field of vision passed over the bright sun. 

Cora's figure was in the distance and Tom struggled to focus his eyes on her. She turned her face when she heard him grunt with effort and smiled. "It's about time you woke up," she said as she dipped her hands into the water and paddled her own board towards him. 

"How long have I been out?" he asked as he tried to push himself upright. "Long?"

She nodded. "Two days," she answered, "Give or take a few hours."

Tom braced himself with his elbows before sitting fully upright, attempting to gauge his balance in an effort to not upend it and spill himself into the water. "What happened?"

"Well," she began, her speech hesitant as she tried to pick the correct words from her mind. "We were trying to get away and there was an accident." Her body language told him she was not comfortable elaborating.

He drew in a deep breath and took in the surroundings a little more, at least what there was of them. "Where are we?" The familiar heat of blush crept as his face turned even more red at the obvious question. "I mean," he added, "How close to land are we?"

Cora shook her head. "Your guess is as good as mine," she replied with a smirk. Closing her eyes, she continued. "My best guess is that we've floated south. I've been watching the stars at night, when the sky hasn't been overcast." She reached into her pocket and pulled a small plastic bag from it, foisting it towards him as she explained, "I grabbed this from the boat before we capsized. I think it's jerky."

Tom met her halfway and grasped the bag. It was zipped shut, waterproof, and full of leathery strips. He opened it and took a whiff, letting the salty, meaty scent fill his nostrils and chase the smell of the ocean from his sinuses. "Yep," he confirmed, "I think beef." He used his long fingers to fish a small portion from the bottom of the bag and placed it on the end of his parched tongue. Under normal circumstances, he'd have eschewed the meat, his senses telling him that he needed hydration, that the salt of even the tiny bit he chewed was too much, but his stomach rumbled with hunger and the pangs were precursors to the cramping that would follow. He ate the meat and passed the bag back.

As she took the jerky sack back and tucked it into her pocket again, Cora nodded. "Best to save it as well as we can," she said, her eyes solemn. "I have no idea how long we'll be out here."

He chuckled. "Well, given the many people that were looking for you, I'd hazard a guess that it won't be too terribly long." He hoped his answer would bring some semblance of levity to the situation, but her dour expression didn't change. Clearing his throat, he asked, "I don;t suppose you've got some water stowed in your pocket, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do have something," Cora answered. A tiny smile curled on her lips as she reached into the bag she had slung on her opposite side. Tom failed to notice the strap that was crossed diagonally over her chest, its fabric as murky and worn-looking as the torn shirt she wore, its color nearly identical. She pulled a half-full plastic water bottle from it. "There were a bunch of these on the boat. Once it sunk, they were just floating there."

Tom reached up and caught the bottle as she tossed it to him. "Cora," he grinned, "I could just kiss you!"

His exclamation startled her and her breath caught as she backed away. "I...umm... I..." she stuttered.

He immediately sensed her discomfort and held his had up in mock-surrender. "I'm sorry," he gushed, "It was just a figure of speech." 

Cora wasn't listening. She'd pushed her makeshift raft away from him and was making an effort to distance herself as much as she could. Tom watched as she judged her location, then settled, lying on her back on the rough wood and covering her face with the fabric of the bottom of her shirt, just barely revealing the soft, lower-globes of her breasts. He gulped and looked away, forcing the indecent thoughts that swam in his head away and trying desperately to concentrate on survival.

A million and one questions began to inundate his consciousness. Where exactly were they? what happened to cause the accident? Were people looking for them? None of them were anything he could answer, or would answer. He didn't want to think about the possibility of dying in the middle of his beloved ocean. He wanted to trust his instincts and believe in something larger than himself controlling his destiny.

It was in this desperation, the aloneness that came from Cora's distance, from the lack of land in any direction as far as his eyes could see, that Tom began to whisper. "Please, let us make it out alive," he said, repeating it over and over again like a mantra. When his tongue began to ache and his mouth was too dry for even a meager few drops of water to quench it, he prayed to himself, his thoughts echoing the words in time to the dips of the drifting plank he sat on.

As the sun began to sit low on the horizon, he laid down, careful not to let his hands or legs drift in the water for some scavenging sea creature to nibble on. The sky was clear, the only clouds on the far horizon, reflecting back the oranges and purples from the filtered sunlight. Tom savored it, unsure if it would be the last sunset he'd live to see. From his periphery, he could see Cora on her plank, hunched down, her own eyes drawn to the vista. She looked tiny, helpless as she sat there and Tom fought the urge to paddle to her and embrace her.

Since their uncomfortable exchange earlier, she'd only come back to him once - to hand him half of the jerky in the bag. His solemn nod was enough to send her back to her distance, and there they floated. They were two stars in the same constellation, both bobbing in the vastness of the ocean, spaced away from each other and destined not to collide.

The sunset faded into the twilight of the evening, the oranges and pinks draining into the ocean, replaced by the purples and indigos of the night sky. One by one pinpricks of stars pierced the velvet darkness and the moon rose in the East. It was a crescent, waxing or waning, Tom couldn't remember, but it looked no larger than the white tip of his thumbnail. He remember his childhood stories about the moon and smiled to himself, the youthful naivete a welcome distraction from the dire circumstances.

Kama spent many nights regaling Tom with stories of Hina, the Polynesian moon goddess, elaborating on the myths he'd only heard in school, legends that were soon replaced with the rebellious streak that led to their meeting in the first place. Tom placed little credence on mythology, but Kama told these stories with such great reverence that they lived and breathed as much as the heroes in the Western tales he was so fond of. As the tapestry was woven of Hina, Tom felt as though he knew her. At one point, he'd told Kama this and was answered with a knowing nod. "As it should be, haole," Kama answered, "As it should be."

It was to the Goddess Hina, then that Tom addressed his latest round of pleas. He thought he'd chanted silently, letting the words fill his mind, their meaning spill from his heart, until he heard them flowing from between his lips, their vibration on his tongue, and he became aware of Cora watching him in what looked like astonishment. His vibrato carried across the waves to her, and he felt like they carried to the Goddess herself. He asked for guidance. He asked to be saved, or to at least be shown the way from danger.

As he spoke, Tom sat up and, for a moment, he thought Cora was going to fall into the water. His response was slow, his reflexes sluggish as he paddled to her, and in a blink of an eye, he saw her rise up, her feet standing expertly on the bobbing plank and then, she was gone. 

Her clothing sat in a pile on the wood, rumpled and wet with saltwater and perspiration. She dove into the depths wearing only her skin, sliding in between the waves with the stealth of a fish, leaving barely a ripple or a splash to show where she'd gone.

Tom shook his head in disbelief. She was gone. He listened to the silence, it's stillness only echoed by the lapping of the water and the sloshing of the waves. Looking up at the moon, Tom asked, "Why?"

There was no answer.

Tom had never felt so alone.


	13. Rescued

It was the horn blast from a Coast Guard ship that woke Tom up from his sleep. The ebb and flow of the sea lulled him into submission, allowing him an escape from the brutal reality of the loss of Cora. He'd waited long into the night, his eye searching the murky darkness of the water in the moonlight and wondering where she was and why she'd chosen that fate. It was almost more than he could bear - the thought that she'd chosen to take her own life versus the chance they'd be saved. He wanted to know what drove her to the decision and knew he's never find out the answer. 

In his dream, Cora was still with him, except she was different. She looked the same, but there was a glow about her, something supernatural and alluring and it made him think of the ancient mythology and tales of sirens that lured men to their death. Tom could hear her voice, a sing-song tune, calling him, beckoning him to follow her and, as he did, she seemed to drift further away.

When he was awakened, he lost all but a few fragile tendrils of the dream world, and these he grasped at until even they floated away like wisps on the breeze. A man's voice yelled over the churn of the engines and, though he couldn't decipher the words, Tom knew it was directed at him. With every ounce of energy he had left, Tom lifted his hand from the board he floated on and managed a weak smile. The man yelled something else before throwing a rope ladder over the side and beginning a descent towards the lapping water. It was only a matter of seconds before he got to Tom, and minutes only before he'd hoisted him up from the detritus and was swimming with him back towards the craft and the other people that waited to help.

During his rescue, they asked Tom questions. Each inquiry coming rapid fire against him and forming a jumble of words in his mind and to these words, he could only find one of his own. "Cora," he said as he blinked his eyes and shook his head. "Cora." 

He was near exhaustion when they finally decided to leave him alone in the bunk with a glass of water and a plate of reconstituted MRE rations scavenged from somewhere in the bowels of the ship. Tom ate the food in silence, his taste buds protesting, but his stomach grumbling in appreciation. He set the empty plate and cup down on the floor near the door and fell back into the bed. His head landed on a pillow that fit the definition in the loosest term possible and he covered himself with a thin, scratchy, woolen blanket. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, his somniac bliss accentuated by the muffled sounds of the rumbling engines somewhere below him.

It was near dark when Tom woke up again, jostled from his sleep by the cacophony of Coast Guardsmen and women alerted to an event that was taking place where they'd ventured to. He got the idea that he was no longer in familiar waters and wondered where they'd gotten to. In his delirium, he forgot to ask where was to begin with, his assumption being that he and Cora had managed only to float further out to sea and perhaps south, into Oregon's waters. 

As he lifted his head from the pillow, it was the sense that they'd changed course that shook him, and as he opened the door, the sweet smell of the air wafted in and filled his nostrils. He shook his head in disbelief. It smelled like plumeria and sea salt. One of the officers was making his way down the corridor and Tom stopped him, recognizing the man from his rescue. "What's happening?" he asked the officer.

For a moment, the man hesitated. He looked over his shoulder, then pushed Tom back into the tiny room as he forced his way in. Shutting the door behind him, he whispered, "Covert operations."

"What?" Tom asked in disbelief. 

The officer pulled a lighter from his pocket and flicked the flint, igniting the flame that illuminated the room. "We didn't realize it when we rescued you," he explained, his voice as hushed as he could keep it, "But you're a wanted man."

Tom shook his head. "It's been a misunderstanding," he began, "You see, there was this woman, Cora, and she was in a boating accident. I was put in charge of keeping her safe and..." His voice trailed off when he realized the officer wasn't paying attention to him, instead, his ear was pressed to the door behind him and his face a masque of concern. "What is it?" Tom asked.

Holding up a hand, the man mouthed, "FBI." He turned his face towards Tom and commanded, "Hide under the bunk as best as you can." With that, he took his finger from the switch on the lighter and doused the flame, plunging them both in darkness.

As he crouched under the bunk, covered with the itchy blanket, Tom saw the officer crack open the door. He peered through the opening before opening it fully and standing at attention. "Sir, the man we picked up seems to have disappeared," he said.

A man in a dark suit ducked into the room. With a surreptitious glance around, he failed to see Tom, or Tom's presence registered as nothing more than a pile of scraggly blankets under the bunk. "I see," he said, his voice suspicious yet calculating. "I suppose we'll have to conduct a thorough search of the vessel."

"Yes sir." The officer closed the door as the agent left. When there was only a small opening, he whispered through the crack. "I will come get you as soon as I can. Stay there."

When the officer returned, Tom wasn't sure how long he'd waited, only the the cramped position made his legs tingle and that as he stood up to leave the room, his muscles ached with the fatigue of staying in one position for far too long. He assumed the threat of danger was past, that the officer was acting out of his own self-preservation. "Is it safe?" he whispered as he followed the other man into the corridor.

"As safe as it will ever be," the officer replied. "The FBI isn't on board, but they've got our vessel surrounded. Most of the crew is gone. They've all opted to spend the night in their own barracks instead of taking their chances on the ship. Seems we've landed in a little hot water and they'd rather face the wrath of our superiors."

"So, how are you planning on getting me out of here?" Tom tried not to let the worry get the best of him, but it still found its way to stain the tone of his voice with concern.

The officer turned to him and, for the first time, Tom could make out his features. They were familiar, the heavy brow, the dark eyes, the tanned skin, the angular cheekbones, the white teeth. Under his cap, a small tuft of coarse black hair fringed over his ears. "There's a plan, Haole," he grinned.

"Makai?" Tom said, his surprise registering in the breath he took to say the name. "Is that really you?"

The officer nodded. "In the flesh, buddy." He clapped the palm of his hand against Tom's shoulder. "Damn you, Haole, I'm always saving your ass."

Makai was one of Tom's surfing friends, one of his oldest, and was as close as he'd ever gotten to a brother. They'd both grown up as one of Kama's rescues, both been on paths to hard trouble. "When did you decide to join the Coast Guard, bruh?" The Hawaiian lingo felt funny on Tom's British tongue.

They continued down the corridor. "About a year after you left," Makai answered. "I saw you doing something and thought I could, too. You were an inspiration, you know?"

Tom smiled and looked down in modesty. "I'm really not," he mumbled. Pulling his attention back to Makai, he took a deep breath and espoused, "Am I glad you were on the boat that picked me up!"

"That was not a coincidence," Makai replied. "I heard you were missing and Kama told me you were having some trouble. Put two and two together, rallied some friends of mine and came to find you."

The situation was worse than Tom feared. "You organized this whole thing to come get me?" he asked. "I take it we're nowhere near Oregon, are we?" He tried not to panic.

"How well did you fry them brains, Bruh?" Makai laughed. "Course not! We managed to get our hands on this boat from one of Kama's old buddies and hoped it looked legit enough." All we needed to find you was a generalized idea where you'd crashed, a bit of data on the wind direction and speeds and David sent out a drone equipped with a GoPro to pinpoint your location." He looked proud of himself to have organized such a feat. "The rest was gravy until we realized the feds were on us." 

Tom shook his head. "You didn't have to do that..." he said, his voice solemn. "I'd have been happy to end my life the way she did..."

Makai wasn't paying attention. Instead, his gaze was directed at the two FBI agents that were coming aboard. "Awww, man, it looks like you're gonna have to swim for it." Without waiting for Tom's reply, he grabbed his friend by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him over the railing.

For a moment, Tom resisted, but his inner voice quieted and he let go, resigning himself to the deep, blue waters below. The rush of wind as he fell was a comfort and he took a deep breath, anticipating that it would be his last. When he finally slapped against the surface of the water with a smack, he went rigid, then relaxed again and began to sink into the saline. As water washed over his face, he felt two strong hands grab his shoulders and then felt himself pulled out of the water and onto a deck. "Ah, Haole, you've done it," a gentle voice chuckled. 

Tom's eyes flew open as his hands moved to clear the salt water from them. "Kama?" he sputtered. "Is it really you?"

Kama looked older than he remembered, his black hair that was previously only speckled with gray was now completely white and the sun-baked leather of his face was carved with lines that made him look like he was whittled from a fine mahogany. "You should know, Haole," Kama said. 

"So, we are in Hawaii," Tom sighed. "I knew it smelled like home."

"Ahhh," Kama agreed as he started the small outboard motor, "Nothing quite like it."

As Tom looked up and back at the vessel he'd been thrown from, he could see Makai talking to the agents that had boarded. Neither of them saw the small skiff, nor turned a head nor batted an eye as the motor sputtered to life and began propelling them from the ship's shadow in the moonlight, out into the open sea. As Makai distracted them, the larger boat's own engines began to churn, drowning out the mosquito-like hum as he and Kama made an escape. 

Once Tom and Kama had rounded the island and were no longer in fear of the agents discovering them and pursuing them, they pulled ashore. "I want you to take this," Kama said. "There's a small cabin on the far south tip of Molokai. Go there. I will be there in a day or two."

Tom knew better than to argue. He nodded instead and got back into the skiff, started the engine and watched as Kama got smaller and smaller on the horizon. He knew where he was going, the direction was second nature to him. And he knew that Kama would do everything he could to keep him safe, though that thought was not a comforting one. Even if he fought against it and surrendered himself, he knew Kama would give every last ounce to free him. This was the best he could do for both of them.


	14. Solitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been super busy at work, but now that it's slowed down, I'll have more time to write. Sorry this update took so long and thank you for reading! <3

The first two days in Kama's hut felt like vacation and Tom reveled in the quiet of the island, its silence perforated only by the intermittent crash of the waves and an occasional bird song. He didn't expect to hear from Kama or Makai so early on and felt secure in the fact that he was in such a remote location that the agents wouldn't find him.

The hut was fashioned from bamboo reeds and palm fronds bound together with jute twine that Kama had procured from the hardware store closest to his surf shop, cracks filled with mud from the forest floor. Tom helped him build part of it. He was certain that Kama employed various rescue boys to keep it repaired and add to it as needed. It seemed larger than he'd remembered, but it was so well-hidden among the lush greenery that the only way to see it was standing directly in front of it, and even then it looked suspiciously like jungle overgrowth. The inside was warm and boasted sturdy furniture made from the same materials as the building itself, with the addition of comfortable cushions of various sizes in exotic colors. There were likewise colored braided throw rugs in random places on the floor. The windows had no glass, only screen to keep out the insects on balmy nights and shutters fortified with mud to keep the warmth in when the weather chilled. There were two main rooms - a common room in which there was a small propane-fueled camp stove to cook with and a pantry filled with canned and dry goods, a water filtration system, and a table and chairs - and the other a bedroom with a low double-sized bed canopied with mosquito netting.

Tom was well aware that the hut offered none of the modern conveniences to which he was accustomed. There was no running water, no electricity, no bathroom facilities, except the outhouse that he knew was out in the back and accessible only by walking out the front door and around the building. He knew his way around in the dark, having spent many weekends on the island, but felt a slight twinge of relief in the knowledge that there was a lantern Kama had left for him, which was to be his only source of light when the inky darkness fell over the island. He also knew to use it cautiously, as the light it emanated could easily be seen from the water, should any agents get the inkling to visit.

By the third day, the hardship of living in such a remote place began to set in. He found himself sitting in the hut in front of the open door, his eyes scanning the horizon and watching for something, anything. He'd exhausted all he could use to entertain himself and found himself wishing there was a stockpile of books, writing utensils, anything. Tom had even attempted to imagine himself into a scenario or two for self-amusement. He'd hidden in the greenery behind the hut and pretended he was a soldier in the jungle; he'd re-enacted the plot of "Castaway," using a coconut in place of a soccer ball; he'd even built himself a sand castle and acted like Godzilla. The theatrics would have been fine, if he'd had an audience, but alone they'd served nothing except to entertain himself for the moment and keep himself from going crazy. If I'm like this on the third day, he thought, What will I be like a week from now? A month?

He knew if he thought of the implications, he would drive himself nuts. By the fourth day, instead of sitting and staring with vigilance out the door or trying desperately to fill the down time, Tom opted to sleep. He woke with the dawn, ate a breakfast of fruit that he'd found on the island and stale saltines from the pantry, went for a run on the beach, then back to the cabin for a nap that lasted until he woke at noon because of the high, hot sun and repeated the process. Darkness fell at approximately six in the evening and it dropped like a velvet stage curtain, with a suddenness that almost seemed fake. He knew this was his cue to eat dinner, which was usually a can of something from the pantry that he'd heated on the camp stove. After dinner, he retired for the night. While he'd have preferred to fall asleep right away, he found himself more often than not staring at the moon and watching her in her phases, imagining the children's rhyme of the cow jumping over her, or imagining she was cheese. 

The days began to blend together in a mosaic of boredom and survival. Tom didn't bother to keep track of them after the first two weeks. He convinced himself that each anxious glance towards the horizon served no purpose other than to make him feel forgotten. His clothes began to turn to rags, small holes that had been ripped by broken branches in the forest morphed into larger rips, their edges tattered. He could no longer decipher what color they'd been, as the sun and sea water bleached them so thoroughly and the dirt from his daily activities had stained them beyond recognition.

There were no mirrors in the hut, but he was certain he looked bedraggled. His beard got fuller by the day and, despite his best efforts to keep it free of debris, he often found bits of coconut in it. When he ran his fingers through his hair it felt dirty, greasy and damaged. He was sure it was sun bleached near platinum, as it had been during his surfing days. His muscles were as well-defined as they'd ever been, tight and strong, from his daily runs and from climbing the fruit trees to gather food.

By night, Tom dreamed about all the people in his life, visualizing what they did in their daily activities. Kama, he thought, would be busy polishing boards and taking the unruly youth of the area under his wing. He imagined his mentor surrounded by urchins that called him Tutu Kane, Grandfather, because of his wizened looks. In his dreams, Makai stood tall on a Coast Guard cutter, inspired by his rescue of his friend to join up and save people. Perhaps, he was in command.

Even Liz, in her stand-offishness appeared, glaring at him from her desk in the office, finger tapping in an annoyed rhythm as she waited for him to finish whatever business he'd had there. Though she'd proved herself a good confidant, he felt she was more a sympathetic friend to Cora. Cora...

Whenever Tom's thoughts strayed to her, he felt his heart clench. He wanted to save her. He knew he'd fallen in love with her the moment he first saw her, that her arms were home. And yet, he lost her, back into the ocean from whence she came. His dreams of her came quick and sure, but he was certain they were shrouded in some fairy tale shroud because whenever he saw her slip beneath the surface, a subliminal recreation of what he imagined were her last mortal moments on Earth, she was no longer a woman. Her soft, white skin was replaced by iridescence that shimmered beneath the waves and instead of drowning, she transformed into something almost snake-like as she swam into the depths. He had no idea what the dream meant, but each time he had it, he woke drenched in sweat with tears stinging his eyes.

On the day Kama finally came to the island, Tom looked worse than he ever had. "What's the problem, Haole?" Kama asked, his brows furrowed with concern as he stepped from the small boat he'd navigated. "You look like the spirits keep you awake. Have the Night Marchers visited you?"

Tom shook his head. "No," he answered, "It's nothing like that." He scratched his beard and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. "It's dreams. Nothing but dreams." He turned his back on Kama and began to trudge towards the hut, his broken spirit evidenced by the slouch of his shoulders and the drag of his feet.

Kama's hand clapped on his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks. "Haole, if they are disturbing you so much, they aren't nothing."

With a sigh, Tom turned around. "Hoaloha," he said, using the word for beloved friend, "Something happened while I was gone," he hesitated for a moment, searching carefully for the words, "A woman."

"Special?" Kama raised his eyebrow.

"More than that," Tom replied. "Mysterious, beautiful, delicate..." his voice trailed off and sadness tinged his words. "She's gone."

In a knowing way, Kama shook his head. "Maybe not gone, Haole." It was the way he said it, like he was aware more of the events that conspired from his island surf shop than Tom had observed in the thick of things. "You need to see these things with your other eyes."

Kama had always spoken of "Other Eyes," like some mystic on a mountaintop would. The concept was as otherworldly as one would imagine - that though concentration and meditation, eventually he would be able to bend his perception to see the world through the eyes of another person. Tom balked when the subject came up, often dismissing Kama's ideas as outdated or kooky, but now he listened.

"You see, Haole," Kama continued, "I see you. I see her. She's not dead." 

It seemed like they reached the hut in an instant, transported through some weird force. Tom didn't remember walking. He didn't remember entering. Yet, he was seated on a cushion on the floor across from Kama.

"Close your eyes," Kama instructed, "Close them and breathe deeply." Tom followed his lead and took in a slow breath, in through his nose, then letting it out through his mouth until a wave of calm overcame the disorientation he felt. "Now, focus. Become. You are she and she is you."

Tom's own thoughts melted in with the sounds of the island, the gently swishing waves, the light, flittering birdsong, and he focused not on the sounds around him, but on the image of her face that he held in his mind. It was her smile, her laughing eyes, that drew him in. Further and further he was pulled and he felt like he was pulled away from himself. He was feather-light, a dust mote in the rays of the sun that fell through the open window. 

Kama's voice faded and Tom felt like he was further and further away, losing himself and becoming Cora. The sounds of the island faded, muted as though he were submerged in water and, when he opened his eyes, he was. He could see the liquid filter in front of him, distorting and twisting the coral reefs below him, he could see fish swimming in their bright tropical splendor around the swaying plant life at his feet. 

A sudden rush of relief and adrenaline excitement washed over him with the realization that she was alive. He could feel her. He imagined he could feel the warmth of the azure water in which she dwelled. He could see through her eyes. Cora, or his visage of her, moved away from the beauty of the sea, propelling herself upward, turning her face to the filtered sunlight that broke through the surface. She lifted her arms and raised them, allowing them the first wash of air as she emerged. She kept most of herself submerged, allowing for only her eyes to breach the shallow waves as she turned her attention from the horizon where water met sky. Slowly, carefully, she turned in her stead until she was facing land. 

Through all of this, Tom remained, focusing on his vision, enthralled that he was allowed even this glimpse. He watched as she turned, saw the splash of a wave as it crested near her and washed towards the shore. Her eyes followed the wave to its end, a beach covered in perfect sand, behind it a tropical paradise. His tropical paradise.

With a start, Tom lost his vision and was fully present in the room of the hut with Kama. "I saw her," he gulped. "She's alive." He lost his breath and regained it with a deep inhalation. "She's here."

Kama smiled knowingly, nodded his head and vanished.


	15. Chapter 15

Tom jumped from his place on the floor, his legs numb from their twisted position. As he took a step, he felt a pain shoot through them that took his breath away and he braced himself against the table, shoving it against the wall as he did. Sucking in a sharp breath, he rubbed his legs with his hands and tried to rub away the pins and needles feeling that inundated them. Once the sensation quelled, he rushed towards the door and threw it open, nearly ripping it from the braided reed hinges that held it to the hut.

He wasn't sure what to expect as he scanned the shoreline. Maybe Cora illuminated golden by the sunset with her arms outstretched to embrace him. He wasn't sure. Whatever it was, he saw nothing but the usual - the beach of pristine sand, the blue ocean waves, the endless horizon. He sighed and started to turn around, back towards the hut, towards his dreams. He thought maybe he could dream of Kama again and ask his old friend for more advice. 

A movement in his peripheral vision stopped Tom in his tracks and he turned his full attention to the lush greenery that flanked the hut. Leaves moved, but not the gentle sway they'd have if there was wind. They jerked with a sudden movement. The disturbance was too large for one of the animals that inhabited the island with him and it piqued his curiosity. He stepped carefully, picking each footing with a deliberate motion he hoped would not alert whatever or whoever lurked in the bushes to his advance.

As he approached, his progress was halted by the bright light of military-grade spotlights that blinded him. "What?" he asked in his confusion, directing the question to no one in particular.

"Sir," a commanding voice boomed, "Please place your hands on the back of your head and slowly lower yourself to your knees on the ground."

Tom cooperated. He could hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest and the rush of his pulse throbbing in his ears. "I...I... I didn't do anything," he stuttered, knowing exactly why the beach was crawling with soldiers.

A hand grasped the nape of his neck and he felt hot, angry breath against his ear. "Where's the woman?" a voice growled. "We know she's with you."

"No, she's dead," Tom answered, choking back tears. "She drowned when we were lost at sea." He could hear the cacophony of voices and sounds as the others in the troupe tore apart the hut. He wanted to protest but he kept his mouth shut, afraid of what would happen if he did.

"Sarge, there's nothing," one of the soldiers shouted from the proximity of the hut. "I think he's telling the truth."

The hand left Tom's neck. "Stand up and at ease," the Sargent said, his tone less gruff than only moments before. "I'm sorry, but we've still got to take you in."

Tom nodded. "I know."

He was marched across the sand towards a waiting skiff that took him to a police boat docked in the small crescent of a harbor. The end of a rope ladder dropped into the wood bottom at his feet and he followed the instruction to climb up it. It swayed as he got his footing on the bottom rung and then hoisted himself up, but the motion didn't unnerve him. What did unnerve him was the thought that he was now a criminal and that life as he knew it had ended abruptly. Of course, life as he knew it was over the moment he'd met Cora.

Once on the boat, he was hustled towards a small cabin. The Sargent was behind him, hand on Tom's back, pushing him with minimal force and steering him towards the darkness. "It's not comfortable," he said, "But the ride will be a short one."

"Where are you taking me?" Tom asked as he stepped through the door. His voice sounded small as it echoed in the room.

"Honolulu, Central Booking," came the answer, just as the door swung shut and left him in darkness. 

Tom felt his way around the room and found a metal folding chair to sit on. He could feel the sway of the boat as it cut through the water and he tried to imagine how it looked to those standing on the bow of the ship. It was twilight and he knew the stars were coming out in the deep blue sky. The water would be somewhat calm, its color matching the sky's seamlessly. 

His breath was steady, low, and the darkness mesmerized him. He imagined Kama was there with him and they were continuing their conversation. "I saw her," Tom whispered. "I saw her. She's alive. How is she alive?"

Kama smiled and rested his hand on Tom's knee. The image was so vivid, Tom could feel the warmth of the old man's hand on his skin. "Haole," Kama responded, "She is not who you think she is."

Furrowing his brow, Tom interjected, "But she is, or was."

"No, Haole," Kama continued, "She is not wahine, she is Mo'o." As though he could sense Tom's apprehension, he explained, "Not a lizard, a dragon, shapeshifted into the form of your young woman. Many years ago, the Mo'o had great power and were revered. Some were said to have captured Pele's love and were slayed by her sister, Hi'iaka, in her quest to free him. Others are known as protectors, sweeping trespassers into the sea with their mighty tails. One legend tells of Kalamainuʻu, a Mo'o who fell in love with a young chief while he was surfing. After they married, her cousins Hinalea and Aikilolo revealed her true identity. They turned into fish and disappeared down a crack in the seafloor. Kalamainuʻu cleverly snared her betrayers with a woven trap — and she’ll supposedly fill the fish traps of those who ask."

"Do you believe she is?" Tom asked, his stomach beginning to churn. "That she is like Kalamainu'u?"

Kama was silent for a moment. "Yes, she is, and you are like that young chief. She's saved you before."

Instantly, Tom's mind flashed to the day he nearly died. The swirls of churning water and the crash of waves were remembered as though they'd only happened the day before. As the world began going black, he felt hands grasp his arms and pull him to shallow waters. "It was her," he whispered, as though the realization would make the entirety of her existence dissipate. "She saved me."

"She is your guardian, Haole," Kama said.

Tom sighed. "Then, what are you?"

"I am Awaiku," Kama answered, his voice close to Tom's ear. "Your guardian angel."

As the words lingered in the air, Tom felt the boat come to a gentle stop and the door to the cabin flew open, slamming against the wall and jarring him back to reality. "Up and at 'em," the Sarge said as light flooded the cabin. "We're ashore."

There was no use in fighting, Tom knew. He was destined to whatever jail time they thought would serve him. Relegated to a cell without Cora, though he knew that life without her was meaningless and that a jail cell made no more difference to it than a palatial mansion on a private island. Either way, he knew he'd be miserable. He followed the sergeant to the other side of the boat and down the gang plank to the pier. He cooperated as he was shoved inside the back seat of a waiting police car and sat in solemn indifference as he was driven to the station.

As he was helped from the car, a familiar face stood next to the entrance. "Makai," Tom yelled, hoping to catch his friend's attention. The man was clothed in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and red tie. He looked so stark from how Tom knew him, he nearly didn't recognize his friend.

Makai saw him and smiled. He approached, his body language relaxed as he clapped a friendly slap on the shoulder of the officer escorting Tom. "Bruh, I see you've got trouble."

The officer replied before Tom could. "Yeah, but he's been good." 

Tom was confused until Makai leaned in close and whispered, "Our man on the inside."

Nodding, Tom understood. He knew his friend was there to help him, but he didn't understand why Kama was not there. He wanted to ask, but common sense told him to wait. "Are you my lawyer, then?" he asked Makai.

"Indeed," Makai answered. "I'll meet you inside once they've processed you." He turned to the officer. "Now, Kanoa, you treat this Haole with respect."

Makai held the door open as the officer guided him inside. Kanoa, Officer Hale, stayed with him as he waited, then was given jail-issue clothing to replace his ripped and worn ensemble. When Tom returned from the changing room, Officer hale fingerprinted and photographed him, finally escorting him to an interview room at the far end of Central Booking. He waved out the door as Tom seated himself at the long table in the middle of the room.

Makai entered, his head held high, a smile on his face. "Haole, I hoped they wouldn't find you," he said as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. "Kanoa, can you close the door and give my client and I some privacy, please?" he asked as he turned to make eye contact with the officer on guard.

Kanoa nodded and stepped out, letting the door swing shut and latch behind him.

"Now, Haole," Makai sighed. His voice was tinged with sadness. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Kama is gone."

Tom took a deep breath an let the words sink in. He closed his eyes and finally replied, "I know."

"How?" Makai's brows were drawn in disbelief. "You were on the island when it happened."

"It's a bit hard to explain, but I'll try," Tom said. He told Makai about the visions, about the visit of Kama, sparing no details save the ones about Cora. He wanted that for himself, what she was. At the end of it all, he said, "I need to try and find her."

"I'll do what I can," Makai nodded. "It'll be tough, but I will do what I can."


	16. Inside

The cell, Tom thought, was no better and no worse than the hut on the island. Sure, in the jail, he wasn't able to run on the beach and the food was nowhere near the freshness of what he'd become accustomed to but he was able to talk to people. There were real people around him and, just as the island's silence comforted him at first, so, too did the noises of civilization. He knew here that the other prisoner who shared his cell, a man by the name of Nick who'd been arrested for petty theft, the officers, even Makai, were not figments of his overactive imagination. He'd begun to question his own sanity on the island and never thought he'd be as relieved as he was to return to the city.

Though Makai was working tirelessly to get Tom freed, the process began to drag on. What he'd imagined would take hours stretched into days, then weeks, until he'd been imprisoned for a month. 

He didn't lack good conversation as Nick proved to be adept at not only keeping up with Tom's natural chattiness but also grasped the scope of his literary and pop culture references with ease. The two of them talked into the long hours, before the guards called lights out, and became fast friends. Tom even confided in his new friend the message from Kama that he believed came from beyond the grave. While Nick seemed apprehensive at first, his own experiences with the paranormal allowed him the open mind needed to accept it and he, too, believed that perhaps the legend and Tom's experiences with Cora were related. 

There was a benefit to having another Haole in the jail - something Tom found out in his first jailhouse skirmish. Nick had his back, even when the two of them were threatened by a large man with a plethora of Polynesian tattoos that covered almost the entirety of his body. Tom accidentally began the fight in the common room by innocently backing into the man and stepping on his toes, which were unprotected in the jailhouse issue foam sandals they all wore. In a flash the man had Tom in a headlock, his grip strong enough to snap his neck, if he so chose to. Nick, thinking more quickly than his friend, immediately grabbed one of the few metal and plastic chairs and bashed the Polynesian in the back with it, not enough to hurt, just enough to stun him. The man let go and all three of them earned two days in the solitary rooms. 

After Tom had been detained for a little over a month, Nick was released - his case reduced by way of plea bargain and his sentence given as time served with one year of probation. Tom was bittersweet. He was happy for his friend, but sad that there would be no more late night conversations and that the one man who understood him was leaving him. He was sure there would be a new cell mate soon, but he was apprehensive about who it would turn out to be.

He didn't need to worry about a new cell mate, nor did he need to worry about scuffles in the common room. The day after Nick left, Makai visited. Unlike their other visits, which had been held in the visitation hall with a piece of plexiglass between them and a phone to allow them to talk, Tom was led to an interview room, not unlike the first room he'd been taken to when he arrived at the justice center. He sat down at the plastic table and waited, nonplussed when Makai entered the room. They'd been through that dance before and it had yet to produce any results. 

"Haole," Makai said with a glowing smile as he sat across from his incarcerated friend. "I have some good news."

Tom sighed. "Am I free?"

Makai shook his head. "Not so simple as that, my friend," he answered. "I've got a judge to hear your plea, though."

"My plea?" Tom cocked his eyebrow. He didn't like the sound of it.

"You plead guilty to resisting arrest and aiding and abetting a known criminal and you go free. Time served." Makai took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Bruh, but that's the best I could do. The Feds were completely unwilling to go any lower than that."

Scowling, Tom growled, "So, that's it. I get a criminal record for doing what was right." He glanced down at the papers that Makai set in front of him and began to read them. The legal jargon made his head swim. "I can't," he finally replied.

A veil of frustration covered Makai's face. "You have got to be kidding me!" he finally exploded. "All this work, that I've done completely free of charge by the way, and you can't cooperate?" He glared at Tom. "I know you helped her because you were in love with her," he said, letting out a deep breath, "But they've got your ass in a sling right now. There's nothing else I can do. If you don't take this, they're talking about sending you to prison for a long, long time."

"On what grounds?" Tom's voice felt meek in the hollow room.

"Kidnapping, grand theft... there's so many charges and they have ways to make them all stick." Makai reached for the papers as Tom shoved them towards him. "I can't see you go that way, Haole. Kama would be disappointed."

Tom closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Kama would want me to do what's right."

"You're right," Makai agreed. "He would, but he wouldn't want you to give up your life for it."

"Maybe not, but life without her is no life at all." A tear formed in the corner of his eye and rolled slowly down his cheek. "I'd rather rot here, thanks."

Makai stood from the table and shrugged. "Do what you want, Bruh, but I can't do any more than I have." He watched Tom for a moment, then turned and left, leaving Tom alone in the room with his own tortured thoughts.

Tom was about to stand up when the door opened again. He'd expected one of the officers to escort him out and back to his lonely cell. The face that emerged was a familiar one. Officer Kanoa Hale smiled back at him. "I knew you wouldn't take that, Haole," he chuckled as he closed the door behind himself. He had a bundle under his arm that he handed to Tom. "Take this and change quickly," he said. "It's shift change, I'm getting you out of here."

There was a security camera in the corner that Tom glanced at. "How are you taking care of that?" he asked. "And what about your career?"

Kanoa scoffed. "Got it covered, Bruh. Now, hurry!"

Tom struggled for a moment to put on the suit so it wouldn't get rumpled. "Why a suit?" he asked under his breath as he buttoned the shirt. "It couldn't be, I don't know, sweatpants and a t-shirt?"

"Can it, smartass," Kanoa chuckled. "You are now a lawyer who has been in conferring with his client," he replied, pointing to the bright green visitor's badge that was clipped to the suit's lapel.

"Won't they recognize me?" Tom used his fingers to try and smooth down the unruly curls that sprouted since his incarceration. "I mean, they've seen me."

Kanoa opened the door. "Don't sweat it, sir," he winked and elevated his voice. "It's shift change. Your client is safely in his cell now."

Taking the hint, Tom straightened his shoulders and picked up the briefcase that Kanoa had wrapped with the clothing. "Alright, then," he replied, making his voice sound as professional as possible, "I trust he will be taken care of, for now." He followed his friend to the security gate. When the officer guarding it asked for his ID, he gave Kanoa a brief, undetected alarmed look and was rewarded by a tap on the briefcase. He set it on the desk, opened it, and pulled out some expertly made counterfeit credentials that bore his photo, but listed his name as "Bob O'Neill." The guard accepted them and handed them back in exchange for the visitors badge.

Once they were outside the jail section of the corrections center and standing in the expansive mezzanine, Tom let out a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed. "Bob O'Neill?" he groaned, cocking his eyebrow. The name was one they'd used to describe the main landers that wanted to learn how to surf on their vacations.

"Makai's idea, Haole," Kanoa chuckled. "I couldn't come up with anything better." He motioned towards the large glass doors that led outside before leading the way through them.

Outside, Tom asked, "What now?"

"It's up to you," Kanoa answered. "There's a cab around the corner to the left, room registered to you at the ultra-cozy Paua Shell Inn out on the Interstate, and time for you to get your head together."

Tom nodded. "Thanks man," he said as he walked across the sidewalk and disappeared behind the statue of Kamehameha that stood guard. As he emerged from the other side, he looked over his shoulder and saw Kanoa return to his station inside.

The cab was a typical yellow cab and, as Tom got in, the driver smiled at him in the rear view mirror. "No need for payment," the man said, "It's been taken care of."

"Thank you," Tom replied, suddenly tired as he slumped into the back seat. 

Despite the Hawaiian sun that poured like a stream through the polished windows of the cab, and despite his own new circumstance of freedom, Tom felt like he was under a dark cloud. Nothing seemed right, like his perception had shifted just slightly to the left - nothing noticeable to a normal person on the street, but just enough of a difference to his reality for him to notice - and it unnerved him. He wanted to enjoy his emancipation, but his lack of interest made it impossible. He wanted to rot in jail. He realized that life lived without Cora would be no life at all and the thought made the cloud even darker.

By the time they arrived at the Paua Shell Inn, Tom was glowering, his expression droll as he nodded glumly at the cabbie as he closed the door. His mood did not lift as he turned to face his intended lodging. It was dated, most likely circa 1965 - a building covered in faded peach-colored stucco with palm trees painted on it, bamboo everywhere there was a corner or a column, Tiki gods, and colorfully painted, fake surf boards that said "Aloha." He hesitated before swinging open the glass door that led to the check-in desk.

A man in an equally-kitschy, multi-colored Hawaiian print shirt greeted him with a broad smile and an, "Aloha!" Tom could tell he was a Haole, and figured most likely he was some main lander that followed his childhood dream of owning a hotel in Hawaii and settled for Elvis Presley's Blue Hawaii leftovers.

He managed a weak, "Aloha," back, realizing the man thought he was a tourist. "I've come to check in. Name's Bob O'Neill."

The man checked his register, an hand-written affair that was probably as old as the Inn, if not older. "Ahh, I see," the man said, "Yes, here you are." He pointed to Tom's assumed name under the Reservations column. "I'll need some ID, please."

Tom hoisted the briefcase to the counter and pulled out the IDs Kanoa had supplied him with. He smiled as he handed them to the clerk. "Will these do?"

"Yes, thank you." The clerk peered at them just enough to see that the man in the photograph and the man in front of him were one in the same. He slid them back across the counter, followed by a plastic keycard. "You're in room 27. At the end on the left by the ice machine."

Gathering the cards and putting them in the pocket of his jacket, Tom mumbled under his breath, "At least something's modern here." As he exited the lobby, he heard the clerk ask something, but he ignored it and let the door shut behind him.

Room 27 was as far away from the highway as it could get in the Inn, and hidden by a stand of palms and assorted shrubbery. Tom could see why it was the room they'd reserved. He was pleasantly surprised when he unlocked the door and stepped from the humidity of the day into the cool, crisp, air-conditioned room. Where he'd expected shag carpet and more kitsch, he found a tranquil oasis of bleached white bedding, turquoise walls that seemed to reflect the sea, and tastefully chosen modern furniture. The difference was like night and day.

Tom kicked off his shoes, undressed down to his skivvies and laid down on the white duvet, letting his skin revel in its soft and cool fabric. His next bout of self-spoilery involved taking a long, hot shower. The water seeped deep into his joints and made him relax so much that he nearly fell asleep propped against the tiled wall. He'd lathered himself with the complementary soap bar and scrubbed himself clean until the white washcloth was no longer white. His hair, once shampooed changed from light brown to the golden it had earned during his time on the island.

As he stepped out of the shower and wrapped one of the fluffy towels around himself, Tom heard a noise. He stood stark still and listened, waiting for the noise to repeat itself. "Neighbors," he muttered to himself as he finished drying off and walked into the main room. Nick was standing in the middle of the room, arms akimbo and a grin on his face. He startled Tom. "What.. what... what are you doing here?" Tom stammered as he tried to regain his composure.

"Well..." Nick began. "I've got a story to tell you."


	17. Depths

Tom sat down and got comfortable in an easy chair near the window that had seen better days. He kicked his shoes off and rested his feet on the table next to him, his long legs bridging the gap that would have been impossible for anyone. As Nick told him about the night after his release from the jail, he shook his head in disbelief. "I was sitting in my bed in the corner of the shelter," he said, "Minding my own business, when this old man walked in and sat down next to me. Now, I wanted my space and I was not about to let him stay there until he said your name."

"What did he look like?" Tom asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

Nick described Kama to a tee, including the bedraggled beard he'd had when Tom saw him last, alive - a detail that Tom had never revealed to his friend. "He asked about you, Haole, he called you. He told me that there were forces aligning against your destiny and that I was the only one who could put the wheels in motion to stop it." He waggled a finger at Tom. "He said only you would understand that you were meant for that mo'o. What does that mean?"

"Cora," Tom answered. "He intends on my reunion with her." He'd told Nick about Cora, but spared the mystical details, mostly because he wasn't even sure he believed them himself. "I don't know how, but if it's possible..." His voice trailed off as a movement of the foliage around the window caught his attention. There was another knock on the door and he answered with a shaky, "Hello?"

"Mr. O'Neill," came a soft woman's voice, "I have a message for you in the office."

He didn't remember seeing a woman when he checked in, though she could have been gone when he'd arrived, or she had been there and he'd been so shaken he didn't notice. "Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Rosalie," she answered, "I'm the maid." That explained it, somewhat.

Tom sighed and threw a glance at Nick. "Alright, I'll be there in a moment," he replied, loud enough for his voice to carry through the door. "Do you think this is legitimate?" he whispered to Nick.

Nick shook his head. "She's the same one who's let me know about my communications."

"How did you know to contact Kanoa and Makai?" Tom asked.

With a chuckle, Nick answered, "The old dude." 

With a shrug, Tom opened the door a crack and peered outside. The maid was gone and the walkway was vacant, so he widened the opening ans stepped outside. A glance behind him told him that Nick was not following him. He closed the door as softly as he could behind himself and continued down the sidewalk. It was later in the day than he'd perceived and the sky was already turning lilac in anticipation of one of the many spectacular Hawaiian sunsets. The cement under his bare feet still felt warm with the heat of the day and it was somehow comforting as he made the trek and hoped there was no way he'd be caught. 

As he approached the office, he saw the manager talking with someone - he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. He hesitated and made the decision to hide as best as he could, just in case. There was a car parked nearby on the gravel and there was just enough room between it and the prickly bush beside it for Tom to huddle down and hide. The space also allowed him to peer just above the door, through the windows and into the office without being seen. 

Once the person in the office was gone, Tom felt safe to approach. The man at the desk smiled as he entered. "Ah, Mr. O'Neill. I have a delivery for you," he said, extending an envelope towards Tom.

"Thank you so much," Tom returned, the gentile cordiality returning to his demeanor. Decorum nearly felt alien as he'd gotten used to the rough manners in the jail and the jitters of being an escapee. He smiled back at the manager, but shook his head as he turned around to leave.

When he returned to the room, Nick was gone, retired to his own room, Tom assumed. It didn't matter, he thought, as much as he loved his friend, he was still adjusting to all that had happened in such a short span of hours. 

The envelope crinkled in his pocket as he sat down on the bed, reminding him of the reason he'd ventured to the office in the first place. Upon inspection after fishing it out, he felt the creamy smoothness of the paper it was made out of. It smelled like expensive paper, perhaps with a hint of Armani Prive cologne from the author, its masculine scent matching the harsh scrawl of the letter. He scrunched his nose as he concentrated, trying to recall who he knew wore that scent. His memory failed him. There was nothing he could remember, but he figured that there could be clues in the letter he held. It was addressed to him, rather his new alias, Mr. O'Neill. He slid his thumbnail under the folded flap and opened it by loosening the glued edge. He pulled a single sheet of matching stationery from the envelope and unfolded it. Immediately, his heart caught in his throat as he read it, sure that he was dreaming and yet completely aware that this was his reality.

"Tom," it said, "I know at this point you are confused and you most likely feel that something is wrong, that you shouldn't be where you are. I want to assure you that you are exactly where you are meant to be at this moment. I have enlisted the help of your friends to free you and you should be standing in your room at the Paua Shell Inn. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get you any better accommodations - this was the safest place I could find. I doubt the authorities will think of looking for you here.

"I digress. The reason you are here is because I am an old friend, a near and dear friend, and I know of your plight. If there's one thing I believe in, it's true love. I know yours is alive and that she is waiting for you and, together, we will find her."

The letter wasn't signed and Tom was frustrated that there was nothing else included in the wording that would indicate the identity of his benefactor. It did nothing to ease his feeling that everything was slightly skewed.

He laid down on the bed and took in a deep breath as he stared at the ceiling. The holes in its tiles began to blend together as he strained to take in all that had happened, as he tried once again to jog his memory and reveal the identity of the letter writer. Just as his eyelids became heavy and he drifted off to sleep, the door opened and he heard Nick whisper, "Oh, sorry, man."

Tom sat up and blinked, his eyes bleary from the exhaustion that overtook him. "It's ok, buddy," he smiled. "I'm guessing it's important."

"Yeah," Nick answered. "We need to go." He motioned towards the door, his face not revealing anything about that was to come.

Tom climbed from the bed, feeling the fatigue of the abbreviated nap as it soaked into his bones. "Be there in a sec," he yawned. He reached his hands to the ceiling and pressed his palms to the old tiles in a relieving stretch. Nick impatiently tapped his foot on the floor and Tom pulled out of the stretch. "Alright, " he nodded as he walked out the door.

Nick was oddly silent as they traversed first the sidewalk around the motel, then crunched across the parking lot. "I guess a car won't be advantageous?" Tom joked. His friend remained morose.

Soon the gravel gave way to rocky volcanic earth through which very few things grew. The rough twigs of scrub brush scrapes across Tom's calves as they continued, his feet struggling to keep a foothold on the rough terrain. He was so focused on the steps he was taking that he failed to realize they were heading to a small inlet of beach until his feet were in the sand.

As Tom looked up, he spied a figure standing on the beach. As he drew closer, Makai looked over his shoulder at him. "Haole," he grinned, "You have some good friends in high places." Turning his attention to Nick, he said, "Bruh, he needs to do this alone," and began walking towards the two men. 

Nick nodded. "I know," he replied as Makai passed him. He slapped his hand on the back of Tom's shoulder. "This is it for us," he smiled. "The rest is up to you. " Without waiting for Tom to respond, he followed Makai from the beach and the two were gone before Tom even thought to react.

Tom's first thought was that he'd been abandoned. He was confused, then angry that his friends left him there alone, unsure why they'd go through all the effort at helping him escape only to leave him alone.

A voice from the sea changed his attitude. "Haole," said the gruff voice, "Follow me."

Tom followed it, curious, thinking he was already hallucinating and hearing Kama. As he rounded a small outcropping of rocks, he found it was indeed the voice of his mentor and friend. "But you're dead, " was all he could sputter.

Kama grinned. "My physical being is gone, yes, " he answered, "But I'm a guardian now. Your guardian." He began walking towards the sea. "In there lies your destiny."

"My destiny?" Tom asked with a smirk. He wasn't entirely confident that he wasn't hallucinating. "The sea has been my life."

"It is, it has, it will always be," Kama said, his voice softly fading in with the sound of the waves and the breeze that rustled the leaves in the nearby palm grove. He turned to look at Tom, straight in the eye. "Do you remember her?" he asked.

For a moment, Tom was confused. "Cora," he whispered. "Of course I remember!"

Kama shook his head. "No, Haole, think harder, further. Do you remember her?" 

Tom closed his eyes and delved into his memories. He saw recent times with Cora, the trials and tribulations they'd been through until... "I lost her," he replied.

"She returned," Kama answered. "Do you remember the accident?"

"I don't really," Tom shrugged. At that moment , though, he saw the event clearly in his mind. The swirl of the surf, the roar of the waves, the shouts from the stands, and then he was submerged and in pain, sinking to the bottom and unable to stop his descent. His eyes jerked open and he saw her there, smiling. "Cora, she was there," he said, the realization that he was not seeing a memory, but her physical being standing in front of him, dripping wet, a hint of scales adorning her arms. "You're here."

Cora smiled and reached up to move a lock of hair from the corner of his eye. Her skin felt cool, wet, refreshing. "I'm here," she said. "I've always been here." Tom closed his eyes as she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "I love you," she whispered. "I always have."

He opened his eyes and glanced at where Kama had been standing, but the old man was gone. The sand was smooth as though no one had been there. "Kama..." he began.

She gently grasped his chin and turned his attention back to her. "He was your guardian and his job is done, now," she said.

Tom nodded. "Now what?" he asked.

"You come with me," she replied as her fingers intertwined with his. 

He followed her, letting her lead him into the sun-warmed water of the inlet, his bare feet squishing into the sand as they walked. There was no question in his mind that he should follow, that, as Kama had told him, it was his destiny to do so. "Who are you, really?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

"I am Coraline," she replied. "I am daughter of the sea, protector. You would know me if you knew the legends of the Mo'o."

"I do," Tom sighed as he looked into the deep orbs of her eyes. "I do."

Cora smiled again and pressed her lips to his as they delved into the depths of the blue water until they were submerged - nothing more than two impressionist figures that disappeared into the waves.

 

~The End~


End file.
